A Touch of Evil
by dandylion05
Summary: Breseis Lestrange arrives at Malfoy Manor at the height of summer and is immediatley entranced by the Dark Lord and all the evil which surrounds him. Can Draco save her? Draco Malfoy x OC
1. Chapter 1

_This is a redrafted version of a story I am nearly finished and had previously posted. However, I was unhappy with a lot of the opening chapters and was unable to keep writing because I was so effing paranoid about what I had already written- it's a sickness. Chapter One has been completely rewritten, but I imagine I will just edit most other chapters and should be putting up a real update sometime soon! Cheers all, dandylion05 x_

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**Chapter One**

Rabastan Lestrange twirled the large, vulgar, onyx ring around his little finger, waiting. It looked foreign on his sallow hand, his fingers were no longer used to the grandeur of jewels, and gave his nails a bluish tinge. His expression was more than a little uncomfortable, his thin lips clenched together in a hard line, depriving them of the little colour they had left. His eyes were pinched, exaggerating his deep and jagged crows feet and the charcoal coloured shadows underneath his black eyes. He shuffled in his silk robes as they irritated his skin and he continued to spin the ring.

The ring itself was a thick gold band with a large rock of jet black onyx set into it's face. Upon the uneven surface a coat of arms was engraved in gold leaf. On the finger next to it, his left ring finger, there was another ring. A simpler, much less vulgar ring. A gold wedding band. As he twirled and spun his onyx ring, his finger never so much as brushed the gold band. It would have been as though this second ring wasn't even there, if he hadn't been so carefully avoiding it.

The trees around him, swallowed up into the darkness and, invisible to his naked eye, shivered and swayed in the cool night breeze. Rabastan's back stiffened. His glassy eyes flicked all around him and he pressed his lips tighter together. He forced his body into the wall behind him and receded under his black cloak. He was now completely still, except for the constant spin of his ring.

Azkaban does that to a person. Makes them paranoid. Many wizards, the callous ones, joke that it's part prison, part madhouse. Rabastan couldn't see the joke. How was sitting, waiting, listening for the faint sound of rustling robes coming to take you back to your worst, your most horrid nightmares funny? How was realising that what you were reliving wasn't a nightmare, but your own real life memories in the least bit humorous? How was it at all amusing to spend nearly sixteen years constantly returning to the thoughts you had worked so hard to lock away into the back of your mind?

His finger accidentally brushed the plain gold band of the second, avoided ring. Memories rushed back to him. That familiar smile, simultaneously breathtaking and wicked. Two glittering eyes, frozen blue, nearly grey in the middle but almost navy at the edges. Dark curls of hair falling over olive shoulders.

Worse than reliving what he had done, Rabastan saw what he had lost: he saw his own past.

And then the air contracted and banged. And Rabastan was abruptly pulled back to the present.

He pinned his rigid back against the wall and clenched his fists until the last of the colour from his sallow knuckles drained away. A low wand light silently began to glow, seeping over the ground, the wall, Rabastan's robes and revealing a young girl in deep green robes gracefully settling to a standstill. Rabastan thought he was seeing a ghost, perfectly preserved and plucked from his memory. Her thick, dark, curls fell to her waist, her eyes, just visible in the light from her wand, were light in the middle, and darkened towards the edges, under a thick fringe of eyelashes.

But there was something missing on their smooth surface, he couldn't place it. And in her mouth, as well, it didn't cut the same arc as the smile of his memory. Her mouth better reflected his own: a stiff, straight line, tipping slightly but sharply down at the corners. She wasn't the girl of his dreams and memories. She was no delightful ghost of his youth long gone. Disappointment hit him like a thump in the chest.

The girl's face began to twist into what was supposed to be a smile but looked more like a sneer. It never met her eyes.

"Father," she greeted his with a small nod of her head in strangely lilted English.

He nodded stiffly in reply.

"Breseis."

* * *

Behind the wall lay the extensive property of the Malfoy family. Large gardens that were home to two enormous white peacocks, ponds, a lake which froze in the winter but was warm enough to swim in during the summer months, and a long gravel path leading from a wrought iron gate to a massive manor house: Malfoy Manor. The house appeared empty. Heavy curtains were drawn over every window and not a sliver of light escaped. Behind the curtains, however, the house was definitely not empty.

In the parlour, a large room with a high ceiling and wide fireplace, full of ornate armchairs and sofas, a large group of black cloaked figures were congregated. One by one the figures were murmuring farewell to each other and clambering into the hearth, which was full of blazing green flames, and disappearing.

Five figures were seated. Three on a sofa hidden, for the majority, behind the huddle of standing figures. Each had the same pale blonde hair and extremely fair skin. The oldest, a man with long sleek hair, sat on the far left with his hands in his lap. He looked strangely ashamed, his eyes cast down to the deep jade carpet rug that covered the mahogany floorboards. The youngest, merely a boy, looked a little sick. He stared ahead, but it was clear he wasn't really seeing. Between them sat a woman who shared their sharp, pointed features. She had one hand gripped on each man's arm, her husband and her son. She looked at each with pure fear. These were the Malfoys, the owners of the Manor. These were the people who looked most out of place.

Narcissa Malfoy gripped her son's arm a little tighter with each cloaked figure who disappeared. As the crowd waned, they became more visible to the other two seated figures. Narcissa's sister, Bellatrix, was one, her eyes were carefully trained on the face of the other. He was pale, almost completely colourless except for his strange, blood-red eyes. His nose was flat, his nostrils merely slits and he held a wand in front of his strange and terrifying face between the long fingers of his colourless hand. He regarded it with a strange indifferent expression and ignored the way each standing figure bowed to him before exiting through the fire place.

"The meeting was a success, I feel, My Lord," the last standing figure, Rodolphos Lestrange, spoke to his master.

"Indeed," his master replied, his eyes never leaving the wand.

Moments of silence passed awkwardly in the room before the Dark Lord stowed the wand away up his sleeve. Lucius Malfoy's look of shame turned to pain as the wand disappeared and he bowed his head a little more. His son, Draco, also looked pained and ill, but his eyes were locked on something different. An enormous snake, the width of a human in the middle, slithering across the floor, fattened from his dinner earlier that evening.

The room did not feel like the front room of a family home. It seemed more akin to a waiting room to someplace nasty and uncomfortable. The Malfoys felt like awkward guests at the home of some distant, scarcely known relative rather than masters of the house. Through the thick silence the creak and slam of the front door stiffened the backs of each Malfoy. It was only on hearing two sets of footsteps that the others looked warily to the Parlour door. The Malfoys all looked sick, their pale skin turning a strange shade of green. No one was expecting a second pair of feet. No one could fathom who it could be.

Rabastan Lestrange entered the room and bowed low to the Dark Lord.

"You are not alone, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord answered him, his expression pleasantly perplexed.

"No, my Lord," he replied, "I have a guest."

He stood up and nodded in the direction of the door.

"May I present my daughter, Breseis Lestrange?" he asked as the young girl with the dark curls and the deep green robes entered the room.

Like her father before her she bowed low to the Dark Lord, her expression solemn. The Dark Lord cast his eyes to her for but a moment before returning his attention to Rabastan.

"You are unmarried, are you not?" he asked.

"I am now, my Lord. My wife," he gulped, "divorced me after my arrest, but not before we had a child," he gestured to Breseis who was still bowing on the floor.

"Indeed," the Dark Lord's red eyes moved to the young girls still form, "And whom is her mother. I do not at all recall your marriage, Rabastan."

"Her mother is Marie Désirée, of the prominent French pure-blooded Désirées," Rabastan seemed to recite, as if going beyond prepared responses was too much for him to handle.

The Dark Lord rubbed the tip of a long index finger along his lip as he watched the daughter of his faithful servant.

"Stand up, Miss Lestrange," he told her, appraising her form, before turning to Rabastan, "You intend to keep the child here, I take it?"

"Why, yes, my Lord," Rabastan's eyes brightened, "If that is agreeable with Nar-"

"Yes, that will be…agreeable," the Dark Lord pressed his fingertips together and tipped his head, "Tell her what she needs to know, but be warned: you will be held accountable should her presence here become a…disturbance."

With a nod to the young girl the Dark Lord rose from his seat and swept from the room in the time it took Rabastan to make another nervous gulp. The air lost its constricting, crushing quality. Narcissa Malfoy let go of her family, and blood rushed back into her hands. She walked over to her new guest and raised a hand to touch her cheek.

"It has been far too long, Breseis," she told the girl.

"Indeed it has, Aunt Narcissa," she smiled a sickly sweet and bitterly false smile and cast her eyes around the grand room, her gaze skimming over the bloated snake without flinching, though clearly registering it's current state.

Draco watched her, entranced. Not because of her appearance or any attraction to her, but because of the way he felt he recognised her. He just didn't know where from.


	2. Chapter 2

_So another complete rewrite here…I was overwhelmed with hatred at rereading just the first page of this chapter so instead of humiliating myself by reading it all the way through I skimmed it and rewrote. I like this one much better. It is by no means perfect but a vast improvement. Enjoy, dandylion05 x_

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**Chapter Two**

The sun beamed down onto Malfoy Manor the following day, bouncing off of windows and making the lake sparkle. The sky was a solid, deep blue- almost navy- and the only clouds in the sky were faint tufts and wisps of white. Two pure white peacocks strutted around the jade lawn, heads held high. The place was unrecognisable to Breseis as the dark and mysterious manor she had been hurried into the previous evening.

It was early afternoon and she was standing by the lake, gazing out across the vast expanse of shimmering water. Her hair shone in the strong sunshine, a few faint glimmers of gold subtly lying amongst her dark curls. Her expression didn't quite seem to match the beautiful day. Her eyes had that far away look, as if they were seeing something miles from where she stood, another place, another time. And not the sparkling lake or pretty sky or roaming landscape of hills and forests stretching miles around her. The corners of her mouth were tipped downwards into a small but noticeable frown. She was dark and pale and unhappy and the world around her seemed to be a false-pathetic fallacy; a manifestation of everything she was not feeling.

Draco sat with his arms wrapped around his knees fifty yards away, gazing at her intently. In twenty minutes she had not so much as twitched. She just stood there, staring. She seemed very polite, strangely polite. She had been the epitome of good manners and breeding to his parents all of the previous night and the day so far. She gave details of her mother, an old friend of Narcissa's, her stepfather, the beautiful vineyard mansion she normally lived in, without sounding the least bit bored. She even ignored his Aunt Bellatrix's frequent disdainful and rude comments- she seemed to harbour some sort of personal vendetta towards Breseis's mother. And still Draco had picked up on the fact that something wasn't quite right, something was misplaced in her. And her current impression of a statue was only adding to his growing pile of evidence.

Draco studied her every proportion. The way her hair hung right down her back in contrite curls, the way her thin black dress emphasised the jagged bones and sharp angles of her too-skinny body, the way her mouth was set into a fierce and unattractive pout, and they way he was still entranced by her, despite all these things. There was a perverse beauty about her, he found. She was forbidden fruit, something he knew was wrong but he found utterly alluring.

It was with a gawking, unattractive expression that he studied her. And it was with this expression on his face that Breseis turned to see when her head suddenly snapped around to stare in his direction. Draco just registered the manic look in her eyes before sharply turning his head in the other direction, a deep blush sneaking across his pale face.

He was surprised to hear her bare feet begin padding across the lawn for two reasons. Firstly, in the heat of his bone-burning embarrassment he could hear his heart thudding loudly in his ears, and didn't think he should be able to hear anything else through the noise. And secondly, she was so small and gaunt that he had almost convinced himself, in those moments of studying her every inch, that she was made out of smoke, and thus would make no sound when her feet fell. His surprise was coupled with alarm. The crazed expression she had worn on seeing him staring at her had thrown him. After all, she was a Lestrange- they didn't exactly have a great track record for under reacting.

The footfalls stopped about a foot from where Draco was sitting, and then there was silence. Draco sat uncomfortably, his face drenched in more colour than it had most likely ever seen. Digging the tips of his fingers into his arms, after several tense moments, he turned his head as nonchalantly as possible- which turned out to be not nonchalantly at all- and peered up at Breseis.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" she asked, tilting her head. He was struck by the contrast between her polite words and the calculating way her eyes watched him.

He shrugged in an honest reply. He wasn't sure if he did or didn't. She sounded nice enough, but then again she could have some savage split personality disorder, when half the time she was sweet as a butterfly, and the other half she was a rampaging axe murderer, too violent and blood thirsty to even bother using magic. It wouldn't have been the craziest thing he had ever seen.

Breseis sat herself down a little closer to him and turned to gaze back out across the lake. Draco fidgeted at her side, wrapping his knuckle against his knee and chewing on the thumb of his other hand.

"Do you remember when we used to play together here?" she asked, abruptly turning back around and catching him off-guard once again, "When we were children."

"I…um," Draco began, flummoxed, "Not really. Sorry."

"You and your little friends used to push me into the lake."

"We did?" Draco's eyes widened. He sorely regretted that now. She was going to kill him. Drown him, probably, a sick act of revenge-

"Yes," her lips turned up slightly at one side, "It's how I learned to swim."

Draco's shoulders loosened off a little as the tension in her eyes receded slightly. She told him the story of how he had thought it hilarious to constantly shove her into the water- at all times of the year- because she wept like a little baby every single time. And as she told the story, vague memories flickered in Draco's mind of summers long past and tears long since cried.

"So how come you're not at Hogwarts?" Draco asked, once she was finished with her ice-breaking tale.

"Rabastan really didn't mention that I was coming, did he?" she asked, pursing her lips as if she didn't know what to make of that fact. Should she be upset? Indifferent?

"No. Last night, we all just assumed he was going outside to smoke his pipe," Draco told her, "Mother doesn't approve of smoking in the house, you see. And then he came back with you, and not one of us seemed to expect it. I don't even remember anyone ever mentioning you."

"They wouldn't," she told him, rolling her eyes and tucking a lock of curls behind her ear, "Bellatrix detests my mother and I, although God alone knows why. We are the red flag to her bull-like wrath."

"What isn't?" Draco laughed. And she smiled again, half of her mouth turning upright in a way that injected the slightest touch of warmth into her face. "So, you're not at Hogwarts because…"

"When my mother remarried we moved to Russia, and then later to France for my mother's health. I was in Russia when I was to start school, so I was sent to Durmstrang because it was the most local." she shrugged.

"Do you think you'll go back there? You know, after summer, if you're still here?" he asked.

She moved her lips as if to say something but then thought better of it. Instead, for the first time, she properly looked into his eyes. She wasn't looking aesthetically, it was like she was trying to see behind them, see inside of him. Draco could recognise in her intent gaze the same concentration that he had felt earlier, upon observing her by the lake. And he stared back, just as intently, trying to catch a glimpse of her soul.

And then, he felt it. A wave of heat moved through the air in between them, catching each in the chest and causing a strange but wonderful twinge.

Breseis cast her eyes quickly down.

"Will you return to Hogwarts?" she asked, her eyes once more reserved, blank, denying the past few moments.

"That…that all depends," Draco shook his head, trying to shake off the strange feeling.

"On what?"

"On whether or not we get control of the Ministry before school starts again. Mother is adamant that I should continue my education, but I can't really go back otherwise."

"Why not?" she pressed.

"Because they know I'm a Death Eater."

There it was, the first time he had ever actually said the words aloud. Sure, last year, in fits of arrogance and naivety, he had bragged about the fact- but only ever implicitly. He had never explicitly said the words out loud. "I am a Death Eater." They rang in the air in steely truth and echoed in his mind. And on hearing them, Breseis's eyes changed once more.

There was a need there this time, a craving. She lent towards him, a crazed smile on her face, looking scarily like Rabastan. She was greedy, politeness and jokes a thing of the past, greedy for more. Much like his words, the desperation in her face rang true. This was the first, pure, external manifestation of the real Breseis.

"You're a proper Deatheater?" she asked hungrily.

He nodded.

She reached towards his left arm, stopping her hand about an inch from it and looking up at him with a strange respect.

"Can I…can I see?" she nodded towards the robed arm.

Alarmed, he shook his head. Nobody got to see it. He didn't even look at it. He hated the thing, it was an unwelcome, ugly, despised intrusion to his skin.

"It must be amazing," she said, moving her hand completely unfazed, "Devoting yourself to the Dark Lord. I was honoured to be in his presence, but to be in the inner circle."

She let out a long sigh, a tribute of her disbelief and respect, her longing.

"Yeah," Draco replied, raising his eyebrows, "I'm having the time of my life."

She studied his face carefully and seemed to take the hint to drop the subject. And then, looking into his eyes once more, she noticed something else: the intricate ice blue colour of his irises was wonderfully similar to the colour of the centre of her own eyes, but managed to pass off as masculine on his face. She found herself drawn into staring at them once more, but seeing the surface this time, the beauty. And then she looked at his entire face, without realising the way his eyes followed the movement of hers. It was as if they were the only two people on earth, lost in looking at each other. Something about the consistency of the air had changed. It wasn't just a wave this time, it was a tangible difference. Everything felt smooth and right. Neither party knew how long they had been sitting like that, looking at the other, and neither really knew who had broken the intricate circle and let the real world seep back in to their consciousness, but one or other or both had.

"So," Draco spoke in barely more than a breath, "Will you be going back to Durmstrang?"

And in the same scarce whisper Breseis replied, "That all depends."


	3. Chapter 3

_Just a short one this time around. This was originally the end of chapter two, but it felt a bit out of place just attached to the end, so it's getting it's own little slot now…And a rewrite. I'm a glutton for punishment. Dandylion05 x_

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**Chapter Three**

It was close to midnight when the visitors began to arrive, stealing up the path to the Manor, detectable only by the swish of their jet black cloaks in the warm summer breeze. Inside the house the group began to assemble around the large mahogany dining table under an enormous, gold chandelier. As each newcomer entered the room, a disembodied voice, seemingly coming from a plush armchair facing the fireplace, assigned them a particular seat.

At equal distances down each side of the table, two dark and strangely hollow women sat opposite one another. Both had a gluttonous glint to their respective eyes, the back of the armchair secured in their line of vision. They leaned in closer every time the voice spoke. Hearing his words was not enough, they wanted to feel them, be close to them, roll around in their sharp sound. So wrapped up they were, that Bellatrix and Breseis had no idea they were almost exactly mimicking each other's movements.

As the last seat was filled, the chair turned around. The Dark Lord was sat in it, his skin appearing slightly waxy in the fire light. He gently pressed the tips of his fingers together and inclined his head to the party before him.

"Welcome, all," he announced, his voice a high, peeling sound, "I am sure some of you will recognise our newcomer tonight," He gestured towards Breseis, "This is Rabastan's daughter. Rabastan requests that I…that we evaluate how appropriate she may be as a comrade. As one of us."

Breseis's eyes brightened and she gripped the table with her bony hands. Her face alive with excitement, adrenaline. Momentarily her gaze jumped to her father's approving face and her wide, almost sneering smile spread up her jaw.

Beside her Draco stiffened. His eyebrows furrowed and he dug his fingernail's into his palms. She couldn't know, and he couldn't tell her now, not with all these people, these Death Eaters. Not with _him_.

"Now, to business," the Dark Lord continued, "Yaxely-"

Draco remained outwardly rigid. Internally, he was panicking. There was something about that hungry, greedy flash in Breseis's eyes that he recognised. She was desperate for _his _approval and attention, and her desperation was naïve. She had been at Malfoy Manor less than a week and had not witnessed any of the horrors that baring Voldemort's brand entailed.

He, Draco, no longer had the comfort of naïve blindness. He could see she would not be easy to convince, he had his doubts that it was at all possible. But even though there was something slightly evil about her current expression, and even though there was a certain amount of ugliness to her face, and a coldness to her heart, Draco felt something for her. Attraction, infatuation, affection? He wasn't sure. Perhaps all. Perhaps none. But he felt like he had to save her.

Slowly, as reports were given, and Breseis's eyes widened in pleasure at the trust being bestowed upon her, Draco began to realise where he recognised Breseis from. He could see a distinct image, a memory from just over a year ago. In the memory he stood in front of the ornate mirror that hung in the second floor landing of his home, looking particularly smug and conceited. The previous day he had been branded, the Dark Mark burned into his flesh forever more, and he was bursting with pride. Bursting with ignorance.

Right at that present moment, in the dark room with the fireplace and the mahogany table and the legions of Death Eaters, Breseis looked exactly like his memory. He wasn't going to let her make the same mistakes that he did, he could save her. And he promised himself, then and there, that he would.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The contrast between the Malfoy Manor of the day and the Malfoy Manor of the night was enormous. During the day the country estate was a quiet sun trap. Doors and windows were open so that the walls could breathe and the lake glittered from dawn until dusk. Two people, a pale young boy and a dark young girl, could often be seen walking the grounds or dipping their toes in the lake. There was nothing to suggest the Manor was a place of secrets, a pace to be suspicious of. Not during the day.

At night, the minute the sun dropped from the sky and the pearly moon shone above the sloping, slated roof, the house took a last, deep breath and fell into complete darkness. Doors and windows closed, curtains were drawn, the house became all but invisible. And it slowly and steadily began to fill.

The whole ground floor was in use at night. Small groups of figures in black cloaks huddled in rooms around maps and documents, before convening in the dining room to make reports and receive orders. Breseis looked with bright, sparkling eyes of wonder at the sober, solemn faces of the Death Eaters at these meetings. She was inpatient for a time when she would be allowed to join in, allowed to prove her worth.

In her life she had never been more spellbound. Everything was new and exciting and she felt alive. It was as if she had floated through her life, bored and disinterested, just waiting for this time, _her_ time. She could feel her father's pride when she was able to help. She had a gift for charms and it had come in handy a lot over the last week or so. And every time she couldn't help feel a childish little burst of delight. Once or twice she had to resist the urge to squeal.

She had never been truly celebrated. At Durmstrang, while excelling at Charms and mastering non-verbal spells at an early age, she had never been above mediocre at most subjects. She'd been tutored in potions for years and had still barely scraped through. It felt nice to receive credit, to be the centre of attention.

She considered herself quite attractive, refusing to see the elements of her father in her face and manners. She spent hours each morning intricately curling her hair to sit in the pristine, contrite way she liked best. She dabbed powder onto her skin to give the illusion of a perfect, pearly complexion and she chose her outfits with the utmost care and consideration. She was nothing short of vain and the increasing attention on her only added to her ego.

Once the Death Eaters left, often well into the night, and the residents of Malfoy Manor settled quietly into a set up that almost mirrored normality, Breseis and Draco receded into a corner of the parlour together. She liked Draco, he was strangely fascinating. He was quiet and troubled but she could see a ghost in him, a ghost that she was fairly sure was an echo of a Draco from the past. She could see it in his sharp jaw and his wide shoulders, the way he held himself. The fading ghost of cockiness. She found it perversely attractive.

The main attraction, though, was branded into his left arm. She sensed it was the cause of his troubles, she sensed that he abhorred it, but she found it devilishly sexy. She liked a bad boy, and Draco seemed to be the least obvious bad boy she had ever met. Subtlety was everything.

Narcissa watched her son and the girl she thought of as niece, she watched them every night. Her heart seemed to glow in her chest as she did. What could possibly be more perfect? More desirous?

"Look at our children," she whispered darkly to Rabastan one night.

Rabastan flicked his eyes in Draco and Breseis's direction.

"What about them?"

"I think they're falling in love," she told him.

"Is that a bad thing?" Rabastan's attention was already lost, returned to the thick stack of parchment he held between his thick fingers.

"No," Narcissa said, "Not at all."

* * *

On the evening of July 27th final preparations were being made for a crucial part of the Death Eaters' plans. Harry Potter, "The Chosen One," was being moved from his protected hiding place. It was the perfect opportunity to capture him, and, more importantly, to kill him. Throughout the day, one by one, the Death Eaters had been slipping away to Little Whinging, the area of Potter's hiding place, and waiting. As the day drew to a close only the Malfoys, the Lestranges and the Dark Lord himself remained.

Breseis was regarding Draco, trying to work out the extent of her feelings towards him. She disliked the way he acted around the Dark Lord, like a little, wounded puppy, and yet she still felt an emotional attachment towards him. She couldn't understand it. At Durmstrang she had been around dozens of braver, handsomer boys, with blood more pure than Salazar Slytherin's, but she had never felt as attracted to any of them as she did to Draco. Perhaps it was something more than lust.

Her mind slipped to the memory of another boy. A boy with a dark tan, chestnut coloured locks of shiny hair, a chiselled jaw and strong, masculine shoulders. She thought of the way he strutted around school, his blood red robes slightly too tight and hinting at the defined muscles beneath. She thought of his smile, his mouth, his soft, smooth lips. She thought of Paris. And her stomach turned.

"Excuse me," she gasped hurriedly, jumping up from her seat and getting to the door in four large, quick, ungainly strides.

In the hall she swayed, her head was spinning, light and dizzy, and her skin had taken on a sickly green colour. She clamped a hand over her mouth as her feet started to take her towards the kitchen. She slammed the door shut behind her and stumbled to the sink, just managing to drag her hair from her face before she began to vomit profusely.

Once she was done, she rinsed out the sink and splashed her face with water, trying to remove the cold sweat. She banged a fist on the counter, in a black rage for letting herself do that, for letting herself remember.

The kitchen door creaked as it opened. She turned around to see Draco, his face the very picture of concern, and her anger abated, dulling to a bearable burn in the back of her throat.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, gently shutting the door behind himself.

She nodded, wiping the remaining droplets of water from her face. Wordlessly, she sat down at the table and filled two of beakers with water from her wand. Draco sat beside her and watched as she carefully sipped at her cup, her eyes once more far away.

"I never quite mastered non-verbal spells," Draco told her, taking a gulp of his own water.

"Really?" she replied, her sight returning to the room around her, "I couldn't live without them. What do you find so hard about them? Your mother always led me to believe you were a very accomplished wizard."

"I don't really think it's to do with being sub-standard magically," he said, looking down into his half empty glass of water and trailing his finger around the rim, "I was sort of…distracted last year, when they were teaching us..."

"With what?" she quizzed, raising an eyebrow suggestively. He didn't see.

"Trying to murder Albus Dumbledore."

The words seemed to echo around the room. Breseis's eyes widened. She had been sure he was going to say something more along the lines of "I was too busy with this hot witch," which naturally would have made her jade with envy. What he had actually said had flummoxed her completely. Her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"But everyone says Snape-"

"I know," Draco cut her off, "He did."

She paused, biting her lip as she thawed out the facts.

"Is that why _he_ hates you?" she asked, tilting her head in the direction of the door. Draco nodded a little in reply.

She looked into his eyes then, feeling strangely warmed by his icy gaze. Something about the fact that he wasn't capable of murder made her not just want him, but need him. There must be bravery in him, she thought, to go against the Dark Lord himself, to fight all the forces pushing him towards that destination, to not kill, even though it was wanted, expected, needed.

She was lost in his eyes, in their strange, alluring beauty. He was like someone from a love poem, a tortured, tormented, beautiful soul. And he was staring right back at her with the same intensity. Paris was now the furthest thing from her mind. There was some sort of electro-magnetism between Breseis and Draco, some external force coaxing her head towards his.

She shut her eyes, her thick dark lashes resting on her bony cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, and with every millimetre of distance she closed between them they seemed to buzz a little more. She lifted her hand and rested it on his warm neck, looking up at him now, a strange vulnerability in her wide eyes. Her normally still heart fluttered in her chest and she closed the remaining gap, stopping now just a touch away from his lips. Waiting for him.

He breathed out, a sweet, disjointed breath, warming her lips. The air was electrified, tense, waiting with her. Once again she cast her eyes up to his. They were saturated with expectation, desire. Draco fought against his own desire, forcing himself to be honest, to not deceive her.

"Sorry," he breathed, his voice so apologetic there was no room to doubt his blatant sincerity, "I have a girlfriend."

Breseis dropped her hand from his neck. The colour abruptly vacated her face and her eyes seemed to glaze over. She disappeared back inside herself.

"I should have told you before," he said, "There's nothing there, with me and her. I want-"

"No," she said, her tone flat, "You shouldn't betray her like that. It would be humiliating for her."

"Breseis, believe me I couldn't care-"

"No," she cut him off again, "You should. And I certainly do."

"Breseis-"

"Can I have a moment please?" she asked, gripping the edge of the table now, her knuckles almost translucent.

Draco nodded, his face scrunched up, torn between being annoyed at himself for telling her and her refusal to listen to him. He closed the door gently behind himself. Breseis stood up quickly, her hands already holding back her hair, and bent over the sink once more. Once she was done she sank down onto the cold, hard floor and sobbed.

When she returned to the parlour, it was to discover that only the Malfoys remained. Rabastan had left, on a potentially life threatening mission, without saying goodbye.


	5. Chapter 5

_Just a little update this time around. Enjoy x_

_p.s. I like reviews =]_

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**Chapter Five**

There was an eerie silence that night, even by Malfoy Manor's standards. And a stillness, hitherto unheard of. The occupants of the plush parlour were stone statues, motionlessly waiting. The fire danced in the hearth, flames illuminating faces, eyes. Closest to the fire, Breseis had two shiny cheeks coloured an ungainly red, and her eyes had turned blood orange. Heat seared her skin. But in three hours she had never once moved, her eyes trained on the centre of the fireplace, desperately waiting for the moment the flames turned green.

Draco watched her as religiously as she watched the fire. She had walked back into the parlour, sickly and pale, and gone straight to the armchair nearest the fireplace. Now she sat, legs pulled into her chest and chin on her knees, her mind someplace else entirely. He marvelled at the way she could recede into herself like that, in an instant escaping reality. She could be surrounded by people and yet totally alone. He longed for that sort of escapism.

There was an alcoholic taste of fear in the air. Fear of victory. Fear of defeat. Fear for loved ones. Fear of the Dark Lord. So many different kinds of afraid mixing and mutating together. Worry was etched in the eyes and the mouths and the thoughts of Breseis and his parents, but Draco couldn't concentrate on fear, he felt to accustomed to it's presence. He could only focus on his utter confusion.

Earlier that evening, while the sun still illuminated the vast and beautiful sky, he had been moments away from kissing her, from kissing Breseis. It was perfect, she had been perfect. In those moments her faults had evaporated and she had been everything he could ever possibly hope for. He cursed his experiences of the previous year, the horrors and struggles he had endured, which had given him a stupid, idiotic conscience.

Draco had not been thinking of Pansy, his girlfriend, while Breseis leaned in toward him. She had been close to the last thing on his mind. It was perfectly debatable whether or not Pansy even was his girlfriend anymore. He hadn't seen or spoken or had contact of any shape or form with her since he had gone into 'hiding' months ago. Some external force had compelled him to suddenly tell the truth when he was unaware of the infidelity he was actually committing.

Furthermore, Breseis's reaction had been more than unexpected. She didn't exactly seem to have a great sense of morality. She fully immersed herself in the plans to what could only be described as pillage through the Ministry of Magic. She had no qualms with the murder and torture of the Mudbloods who were unaware they had done anything wrong. And yet, she had lost the plot at the thought of _kissing_ someone else's boyfriend.

After three hard, straight hours of staring at her, barely blinking, Draco was no closer to any conclusions. Every so often he would remember the image of her gorgeous lips coming towards his, her wide eyes looking up at him, seeped in unfamiliar emotion, and he internally kicked himself several times.

There was a sudden crash coming from the front door and the stones broke into life. Narcissa Malfoy screeched something which sounded vaguely like "_The Ministry!_" and flung herself in front of her son. Lucius drew a knife from up his sleeve and positioned himself opposite the parlour door, ready to attack but feeling weak and useless without the wand Voldemort had taken from him. Breseis rose quickly to her feet, her face confused, looking from Narcissa to Draco to Lucius to the door with a mix of fear and incredulity.

The Parlour door burst open and two Death Eaters entered, dragging a hooded and clearly injured comrade between them. Lucius lowered his knife as more Death Eaters began to stream through the door. Breseis's eyes never left the injured man. The hands of his supporters were soaked red. Narcissa ran to his aid and lifted her hands in horror from his cloak to reveal fingers covered in red droplets: his cloak was soaked with blood.

"Who is this?" Narcissa asked, staring with fright at her bloodied hands.

Breseis had to strain to hear above the other Death Eaters now.

"-Lestrange," she heard one of the blood-blushed Death Eaters say.

She moved like a gale force wind, smashing her way to the other side of the room.

"Move!" she shrieked at Narcissa.

She pulled back the injured man's hood. His face was unrecognisable, slashed in countless places, each cut streaming with blood. His black hair was matted with drying blood and it was clear from his soaked robe that the cuts extended far beyond his face.

"_Mon pére!_" She exclaimed, aghast.

"Don't be ridiculous," she looked up to see Bellatrix towering over her, "What sort of Lestrange is so stupid that she cannot recognise her own father from her uncle?"

"Pardon me?" Breseis asked, unable to muster her usual contempt for her aunt.

"That is Rodolphos, my husband, idiotic child. Your father is drinking whiskey in the corner like the fool that he is, seemingly unscathed."

Breseis turned to the chair she had recently vacated to see her father knocking back a tumbler of amber-coloured liquid. The look of dread fell from her eyes the moment they touched his form. With a look of austere proficiency she turned back to the man who was actually her uncle and tucked her hair behind her ears. Now, as she looked properly, she saw the features of Rodolphos beneath the wounds and blood. She gave a little huff; half relief, half annoyance at her mistake.

"_Sectumsempra_?" she asked Bellatrix in a flat tone, pulling out her wand.

"I will sort it-"

"There is really no need," Breseis cut her off, already beginning to mutter a Latin incantation and run her wand along the cuts, thanking some higher force that Durmstrang taught their students not only to inflict pain, but to heal it.

Once his face had begun to scab over, she ripped open Rodolphos's robes and gagged. It was fortunate, she noted, that she had nothing left in her stomach to throw up. She muttered more fervently now. The cuts were deeper and thus harder to heal. Not to mention the fact there were infinitely more of them. She tried to work as quickly as possible. The cuts showed no sign of clogging of their own accord; blood poured freely from each at an alarming rate. She was unaware of anything else going on around her, she may well have been in an empty room for all she knew, until she felt a strangely cold hand on her bare shoulder.

"That will do, child," the Dark Lord told her.

"But, my Lord, my uncle is bleeding profusely. Leaving these wounds open would result in certain death," she replied, somewhat uncertainly. She didn't want to disobey him.

"I said, that- will- do."

She nodded in reply, turning away from her uncle. The Dark Lord looked strangely placid, but his presence made her feel uncommonly uneasy. She was certain there was a lot of anger sizzling under the thin membrane of his pale skin.

"You have shown talent and initiative tonight, as well as loyalty. These are values I…admire…in my followers," with each word, Rodolphos slipped further into the recesses of Breseis's mind. "Our plans tonight may have been…foiled, but that does not mean our other operations have been put on hold," the Dark Lord now addressed everyone, "and you, Breseis, will have a very important role to play in the new order. Much more than that of a nurse.

"You!" he pointed at Narcissa, "Clean that up. And Lucius, this is what is left of your ridiculous excuse for a wand."

The Dark Lord through a small stump of wood into Lucius's lap, regarding him with a look of disgust before sweeping out of the room. Narcissa had already taken up Breseis's place at Rodolphos's side. She was shaking so much that his wounds were clotting much more slowly. Breseis didn't notice. Rabastan had come to her side and wrapped a proud arm around her shoulders. He looked with a gloating expression at his contemporaries, showing off his capable and prised daughter, covered in the evidence of her brilliance: his own brother's blood.

As Draco moved to help his mother, he felt sickened to the core.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Two strangers opened a heavy door into a hall full of frantic looking Muggles. Many of them were balding, most of them were sweating, each had a scarily manic look in their eyes as they dashed to and fro. Several of the balding men's expensive looking tailored suits were ill-fitting, as if they had suddenly lost a lot of weight and then not had enough pay their tailor a visit. They heaved at their waist bands as they ran, panting and flushed.

The strangers stepped in, eyeing the peculiar Muggles scathingly. A receptionist watched them from behind a large mahogany desk. There was a man and woman, both young and quite pale. The boy had white blonde hair and wore strange clothes, like black robes. The girl was scarily thin with dark curls falling right down her bony back. They were nothing like the sort of people the receptionist generally encountered. _They wouldn't look out of place in a vampire movie, _she noted. They began to cut a straight line through the crowds to the elevators at the other side of the room.

The receptionist got up and hurried through the crowd to meet them.

"Excuse me!" she called, pushing her glasses up her nose, "Excuse me!"

The girl turned toward her, her face turning to a disdainful pout.

"I'm sorry, do you have clearance to be in here?" the receptionist asked them, though she directed the question at the girl; she seemed to be in charge.

"Of course we do," the girl replied curtly, turning back towards the elevator.

"From who?" the receptionist pressed, blocking their route to the elevator doors.

"From the Prime Minister himself, _madam_, don't you recognise us?" the girl gestured to her accomplice.

"No, I can't say I do. Besides which, all appointments for today have been-"

"Disgraceful," the girl cut her off, turning to the boy "We are now their Government's biggest benefactors and their door staff won't let us through. Even when we have _important, private_ matters to discuss with the Prime Minister. Perhaps we should just take our money elsewhere."

The words 'biggest benefactors' echoed in the receptionist's ears. She vaguely recalled the recent passing of a senior, very generous benefactor to the Prime Minister's party. She remembered his entire estate had been left to his young niece and nephew, who were of some sort of aristocracy. _From Scotland?_ she thought. She found herself stepping out of their road and begging for their forgiveness of her imprudence. The pair stepped into the elevator silently and the doors closed, concealing their faces.

Breseis had been given her mission.

* * *

Inside the elevator Breseis fussed over her dress and hair, patting and smoothing. Draco watched and held his breath as she pulled up the side of her skirt, simultaneously revealing the top of her fishnet hold-ups and her suspenders, with her wand neatly tucked in, and her thigh bone. He felt a familiar twinge of attraction mixed with revulsion. She gave her wand a small pat before dropping her skirt back down.

"Have you checked yours?" she asked, looking at Draco now.

"Ummm…"

"Check it. I want everything to go smoothly today. You might need it." She turned to the elevator's control panel and watched the floor number gently climb higher.

Just yesterday the Ministry of Magic had finally fallen. The Death Eaters were now officially in charge. It was safe for Draco and Lucius, Rodolphos and Rabastan, and, unfortunately, Bellatrix to be seen out. They were no longer on the run from the law. The previous evening Breseis had been given her task, and she was determined that nothing would stop her. In her mind's eye she saw her father's gloating face as she received such praise from the Dark Lord. She wanted that again, desperately.

The elevator pinged as it reached their floor. The doors slid open and Draco and Breseis stepped out into a busy corridor. No one noticed their presence. They began to stalk steadily down the hall, weaving their way past the rushing Muggles. At the end of the corridor there was a large mahogany door, flanked on either side by two security guards in crisp, tailored black suits.

"I take it this is us," Breseis whispered to Draco, patting her leg again as she stepped.

The security guards regarded the pair as they approached, wondering what on earth the strange, young, gothic couple were doing in the building, and who had authorised it.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Breseis spoke in her strangely accented drawl, "I believe we have an appointment with your…boss."

"We have no authorisation to let visitors in today, madam. Our _boss_ cancelled all his appointments. If you go down to reception you will be able to reschedule-"

Breseis sighed and rolled her eyes. She pulled up the side of her skirt, to the supreme shock of the guards, and pulled her wand out of her stockings. The security guards regarded her strangely: they doubted they had ever witnessed anything so odd, and they had seen many odd things. The girl pointed the strange, smooth stick at each of them in turn, muttering a little rhyme under her breath.

"You first then," she said, pointing it at the security guard to her left, "_Imperio_."

The guard's eyes glazed over a little, and the look of confusion disappeared from his face as the Imperius Curse took effect. He inclined his head to Breseis. "What the-" the other guard began to say, but Breseis was quick. She turned her wand on him and repeated the curse. His face, too, smoothed over and he opened the mahogany door for her.

Breseis strolled in purposefully, much to the alarm of the balding Muggle standing in the corner of his office, seemingly addressing a small painting.

"Prime Minister," she said, her face moving from incredulity to a false smile that looked alien on her ever-serious face, "Let me deal with that."

She walked over to the man's side and looked at the small, dirty picture he had been speaking to. It's occupant was already scurrying out the painting's side. Breseis pointed her wand at the painting and a black line, barely perceptible but definitely there, appeared around it's edge: a barricade to stop the return of the occupant.

"Now, Prime Minister, tell me everything your little friend said, so that _I_ can set you straight."

* * *

The late afternoon sunshine bounced off of the street as Breseis and Draco walked down it, their pale skin illuminated by the shiny rays. They were occasionally getting odd looks from other, Muggle, pedestrians as they walked. Black wasn't the most choice of colours to wear on a hot day like this and people seemed to find Draco and Breseis's abundance of it quite odd.

They turned down a quiet alley and moved into the shadows of a large bottle bin.

"Lets get back to yours then," Breseis said, unable to keep her hands still with excitement.

Draco pulled out his wand. His mind was in a million different places. He felt guilty about what they had just done, angry that he hadn't stopped Breseis, unwilling to go home and tired of his horrible life. He took Breseis's strangely cold hand and felt her give it a small squeeze. Overwhelming affection was added to the list of things he was currently thinking about. He turned absentmindedly into the crushing tube that was apparation.

With a thud, he landed with his face pressed into what seemed to be grass.


	7. Chapter 7

_Updating may be taking slightly longer than I had initially planned, but there are lots of repairs to be made. Quite a bit of new stuff in here for anyone who read the first draft. Enjoy X_

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**Chapter Seven**

Draco sat up, his head thumping from the hit it had just taken, and looked around. He was sat about half way up a mildly sloped hill in the middle of a massive, grassy field. He looked around and all he could see in any given direction was more grass: vast expanses of it, roaming and sloping in all directions. For miles nothing but green waves. Except, of course, for Breseis.

She sat up a few moments after him, blades of grass sticking in her disgruntled hair and grass stains smeared up her face. She swept clumps of curls from her eyes and looked around as he had done, taking in the acres of green meeting the bright blue, cloudless sky. She blinked, and then looked around again. They were still in the middle of nowhere. She dug her nails into her arm and raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the pain. And then she turned to him, her expression mild, and said:

"Draco, where the _hell_ are we?"

"I don't actually know…" he replied, having another look around.

She joined him, eyeing the never ending sea of green with a mix of contempt and disgust. She swore under her breath as she struggled to her feet, trying to brush the grass from her scanty dress. She squinted into the distance and saw…nothing. This was followed by an exasperated sigh. With every passing second her jaw tightened a little more. Draco knew what was happening. It was a classic Lestrange sign of anger being suppressed.

And strangely, it angered him.

When Rodolphos or Rabastan got angry, he tended to cower or try and escape. When Bellatrix got angry, he tried to put several solid things between them. It was terrifying to watch maniacs go crazy: they were unpredictable. But seeing Breseis's jaw tense in the same way, mirroring their behaviour, made him mad. He didn't want her to be like them, she could be so much more than just another Lestrange. But it was like she wanted to be one of them, and he couldn't stand it.

"I can't believe you did this, Draco, everything was going so smoothly and you just had to ruin it!" she snapped, flicking more stray curls from her face in annoyance.

"Look, it was an accident," he snapped back, never one for hiding his anger, "Don't get annoyed with me, okay? It's not like I meant it."

"You apparated us into the middle of nowhere! We could be in France for all we know! I'll get as angry with you as I please!"

"Don't shout at me, you're the one who asked me to get us out of there. I don't even have a licence, so I can't really be held accountable-"

"You don't have a licence! Well you might have told me that before you got us lost!"

"Well if you're so bloody brilliant, why don't you apparate us home?" his voice battled with hers for the prize of loudest, booming across the fields.

"Don't be stupid, we're probably far too far away! I'll splinch us if the distance is too far! Besides I'm too angry at you to concentrate! You complete idiot! You've probably spoiled everything for me now! Lost! After everything we've- _I've _managed to do today, _you-got-us-lost_!"

"Well I only got us lost because I was too busy worrying about you to concentrate of getting home!"

"Excuse me?" she spoke now, her voice hoarse from shouting.

"You heard me." Draco snapped at her and then started to walk down the slope, rubbing his shoulder as he did; he was just beginning to realise it was in pain.

Breseis watched him for a few moments before running after him, her dress blowing up in the light summer breeze to reveal a massive rip in her stockings. His legs were longer than hers and his purposeful strides were outdoing her dance like run.

"Draco!" she called, "Where are you going?"

He didn't reply, didn't stop, didn't pause. She ran faster, her anger now completely abated, replaced by confusion and panic. He was close to a low, barbed wire fence when she caught up with him and gently touched his elbow. He stopped then and turned to her. His expression was dark, his eyes and strong, sharp jaw line set in a way that let her know he was still really pissed off. She sighed; she didn't blame him

"Why were you walking away from me?" she asked, eyes uncharacteristically soft and wide.

"Because I'm trying to find someone to tell us where we are, and I figured we were probably on a farm because of all the fields, so there's probably a farmer someplace," he replied, his voice forced calm.

"Oh."

"And because I'm mad at you."

"Oh." She took a deep breath. "Because of what I said to you."

It wasn't a question but he answered anyway.

"More like because of the way you said it." He sighed. "And…Because you don't know what you're getting yourself into. Being like me, being a Death Eater, it's not romantic or heroic. It's not gothic. It's not exciting. It's a living nightmare. Your life isn't your own, you're tied to a man who has no natural emotions and forces to do things that are, quite simply, disgusting. Breseis, if you're smart, you'll go home to your mother and keep the hell away from all this mess. Get away while you can."

There was a pause then. She looked into Draco's eyes and saw that he was still angry, there was fire behind the ice, frosting the window to his tortured soul. Only certain words made there way to the forefront of her mind. "_Go home to your mother_," echoed for a few, stray moments. "I can't," she thought, picturing her mother's dazed face, and her step father. She shuddered. Then the words took a new meaning.

"You want me to go home?" she asked.

He let out an angry sigh and turned away again, about to march off. God, he was sexy when he was angry.

"Draco! Wait!" He turned back and looked her straight in the eyes. The action seemed almost violent in its intensity.

"Of course I don't want you to go home. But for completely selfish reasons," he told her, "Being at home is a slight bit less like torture when you're around. But that isn't the point, Breseis. Being a Death Eater isn't something you can walk away from, it becomes part of who you are. Being branded, it's not just aesthetic. It's like a disease, spreading through your entire system," he gripped hold of her arms then, unleashing the full strength of his chiselled arm muscles, " It becomes part of you, do you understand that? There is no escape. He is always there, rooted in your very skin. I can't let you do this unless you fully comprehend what you are doing. Because I sure as hell didn't. And I will regret that every single day for the rest of my life."

She couldn't rip her eyes away from his gaze. Inside, her thoughts were in turmoil. She felt a strange, perverse warmness that he was so desperate to protect her from doing something she might live to regret; it felt foreign amongst the coldness she had felt in the days since their 'almost kiss,' or, as she referred to it, his blatant rejection of her. But there was also a feeling of guilt. Draco thought she was worth saving, and he was very wrong. He thought she was just like him, a decent person beneath all the pure blood breeding and gothic appearance. She wasn't. She was Lestrange to the core, and she had known it for some time now.

"I know what I'm doing," she told him quietly, "I'm not making a mistake."

The intensity in his eyes morphed into defeat and he let go of her arms. He looked slightly sad, and she was sorry she couldn't be better for him. She would have liked that. She let her lips curve into a small smile, a real one: a rare occurrence that was growing more frequent as she spent time with him.

"Maybe we should try over the hill?" Draco eventually suggested, "We can't see over there, there might be people?"

"I hope not. They would have heard us shouting!" she nudged him, trying to lighten the mood, before slinking an arm through his so he couldn't walk off again.

They set off up the hill, friends again. Though neither was sure that friends was enough.


	8. Chapter 8

_Another short update, sorry to all those who like big, meaty ones. Lots going on though! X_

_p.s. How sexy does Draco look in the new Half Blood Prince trailer? Yum!_

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**Chapter Eight**

There was a tense silence in the parlour that night. The flames coming from the hearth were the only light, and in the shadows a select group of Death Eaters watched the fireplace in anticipation. The shadows moved and swayed with the angry flames, sometimes bringing faces into light, and other times completely obscuring them. Rabastan Lestrange's eyes were hungry and excited. He leaned forward in his seat, unwilling to blink and miss the crucial moment. Draco Malfoy looked defiant, unready to resolve himself to her fate until it was too late, unwilling to believe this was the path she had actually chosen.

In front of the fireplace, two figures stood facing each other. One was a tall and ghostly pale man, who was no longer really a man at all. The other was a girl, eyes wide and orange in the light of the dancing flames, sick with the anticipation of this much desired event. She wore a black silk dress, more like a slip than anything else, and held out her skinny left arm to the man.

The Dark Lord turned to the fire and looked into the flames. He pulled a long rod from their midst. It had a wooden handle, so it wouldn't burn him, but the end was metal and moulded into an elaborate design of a skull and snake. It glowed white hot. Draco thought of it as a stamp. The Dark Lord lifted his wand to the rod and said the incantation for the Dark Mark: "_Morsemorde_." He then turned back to the girl, to Breseis.

With a long fingered hand, he clasped her wrist and turned her arm so her palm faced upwards. He flexed it so the skin was thin and tight. He then lifted the rod and directed it towards her flesh. Draco turned away then, feeling extremely nauseas. He heard a long, drawn out sizzle and Breseis's pained whimper as the metal made contact with her otherwise unblemished skin. He choked back a mouthful of vomit.

He looked back to the fire as the Dark Lord lifted the brand away from her arm and threw it carelessly to the floor. He inspected the wound, red raw and burning through to her bone, attaching itself to Breseis forever. He seemed pleased.

"Does it work?" he asked her, reaching for her other hand to test the mark, but she stopped him, lifting her wrist to her mouth and pressing her lips to it. She flinched as it burned harder.

"Very good," he turned away from her, his eyes seeking out her father amidst the black cloaked figures, "You should be very proud Rabastan, your daughter has joined us."

Rabastan beamed with sickening pride and went to his daughter's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing his thin lips into her hair. Breseis smiled smugly and tried to hide her annoyance that the Dark Lord swept out of the room disinterestedly as the other Death Eaters, her new comrades, came over to congratulate her.

Draco soon followed him, feeling like Breseis had just slipped further from his reach.

* * *

Breseis sat outside the house later that night, watching the peacocks strutting in the moonlight. Her arm was in a severe amount of pain and the cool night air was soothing, satiating some of her discomfort. She tried to focus on other things, on her achievement of that day, on her father's pride, on her long but lovely walk with Draco through what turned out to be the English countryside, not overly far from his home.

But it all came back to her current pain.

She tried to think of the way it felt to link arms with Draco, that constant contact had been close and nice, intimate, but not overwhelmingly so. But that made her think of Paris. Of the intimacy she had shared with him. The attachment, the love, the sweet memories of the early days of their relationship. The sickening memories of their relationship's fate.

She was overcome by panic then, as she let that particular memory run its full course. Panic which replaced the physical sickness she had felt every other time she had thought of _that_ day since its occurrence. She felt herself breaking into a cold sweat and the pain of her arm was suddenly forgotten.

She jumped, startled, as she heard footsteps. Her eyes were manic as she turned to see Draco creeping cautiously outside.

"Hi," he began, "are you-"

"Come here," she abruptly cut him off with an urgent whisper, "Quickly!"

He rushed over and sat down beside her, his face now as panicked as hers.

"I need you to make me a promise," she told him, still whispering that urgent whisper, her eyes locking his in place.

"Okay," he replied cautiously.

"And I need you to not ask questions," she continued, "I know it's a lot to ask, but it's very important."

He nodded. She took a deep breath.

"I understand that things might not always be the way they are now, we might not always be in control. There might come a day when we are hunted, when they are trying to round the Death Eaters up" she whispered, and Draco nodded again, feeling even more confused. "If that day ever comes, and I am imprisoned, then there's something I need you to do."

Again, Draco nodded. More slowly this time, his mind conjuring a million possibilities of what it could be, none of them at all close to her real request.

"I need you to go to Durmstrang and find the principal, Professor Petrov, and his deputy, Professor Ivanov. Tell them that, Azkaban or no Azkaban, their contract is still binding."

"Contract, what-"

"Please don't ask questions," she said, looking very tired all of a sudden, "Just please promise me you'll do it. It's very important."

"Okay," he nodded, watching her carefully, "I promise."

She leant towards him then, and brushed her lips very delicately against his smooth cheek. "_Thank you_," she whispered under her breath, and then stood up and walked inside. He watched her go, touching his cheek where her lips and her words had been. She was, hands down, the most confusing and complicated girl he had ever encountered. She was a whirlwind of emotions. But he had never seen her that truly, deeply afraid. He wondered what on earth she could be hiding, and realised as he obsessed over hypothetical answers, that he was completely intoxicated with her.


	9. Chapter 9

_Another little update and, sorry, it's not that exciting. This is recycled from the first draft, not of the most importance but not totally unnecessary either. According to my plan, I'm already half way through my rewrite so YAY! Proper updates coming your way soon!_

_Enjoy, and thanks for sticking with me X_

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**Chapter Nine**

Diagon Alley glittered in the warm summer sunshine. It was the last week of August, and the sky was still a deep and entrancing blue and the only clouds in the vast London sky were those made by jets flying Muggles home from abroad. The alley itself was crowded. Worried looking parents held onto their children and didn't dare to look anyone in the eye as they rushed from shop to shop, collecting necessities. Some hadn't bothered to bring their children at all, and struggled with armfuls of cauldrons and books.

Draco and Breseis stepped out of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions carrying a large number of bags; Breseis had begun to panic that most of her scanty clothing did nothing to cover the newly acquired Dark Mark which was burned into her left arm. She had managed to find a cream cotton peasant dress amongst her mountain of Brand revealing clothes, which miraculously had long sleeves. It was fine for the day in London, but she was unwilling to wear it for the rest of her life. She liked dark colours, preferably black. The crisp cream felt alien on her skin. And so, she had ever so slightly over indulged in buying new, mark concealing clothes.

They began to stroll down the street, standing out against the crowds of hurrying people. They were heading in the direction of Flourish and Blotts, Breseis's arm linked through Draco's. He was making jokes about the amount of money she had spent, and the amount of clothes she had bought, comparing her six bags full to his single bag, filled only with his new school robes. She smacked his arm playfully and laughed. It seemed so natural to walk and laugh together. Neither was aware that they were being carefully watched.

Across the street two brown eyes focused in on the blonde boy and the dark haired girl he was with. With every laugh, every playful touch, the eyes narrowed. The brown eyes remained focused as the body they were attached to began to move. It took large, purposeful strides across the alley. Soon the eyes were behind the laughing couple, almost completely closed in anger.

"Draco!"

Draco and Breseis both looked over their shoulders. Breseis took in the short girl with the angry, pug-like face. She wore ill-fitting jeans and a Hogwarts cape. Breseis had to resist the urge to laugh; she seldom encountered people with dress sense like this. Draco removed his arm from Breseis's grasp and she turned to look at him in confusion.

"Pansy…" he said, shocked. "I wasn't expecting to see you today!"

"Evidently not," the girl called Pansy spat, "Who the bloody hell is that? I've not seen you for months and here you are with another girl!"

She threw Breseis a scathing look. Breseis returned it, displeased by the girl's open hostility and disrespect. Breseis was a Death Eater now- she didn't have put up with crap like this!

"Oh, well, Pansy, this is Breseis," he gestured to Breseis and gulped slightly at her angry expression, "She's my Uncle Rabastan's daughter. She's been staying with us this summer."

Pansy still looked annoyed.

"And Breseis," Draco continued unsurely, "this is Pansy Parkinson, my, um, girlfriend…"

Pansy gave Breseis a scathing smile. Breseis gave a huffy sigh and wished she hadn't been taught such good manners.

"Pleased to meet you, Pansy," she lied, smiling as best she could.

Draco stifled a laugh as Pansy reluctantly shook Breseis's outstretched hand. Breseis's smiles tended to look more like grimaces, especially when she didn't mean them. He thought it was cute, though.

"Breseis will be coming to Hogwarts after the summer," Draco added, unable to hide a smile.

"What?" Pansy snapped, dropping Breseis's hand.

"Under the new Ministry Act, you know?" Draco probed, referring to the recently passed law which declared all witches and wizards of school age residing in Britain must attend Hogwarts.

"Oh, great," it was Pansy's turn to lie.

"We better make a move, Drake," Breseis said, touching his arm lightly, and ignoring Pansy's scowl at the shortened version of Draco's name. "We don't have that long until we're expected back."

Draco nodded and stepped forward to Pansy. He leant in and kissed her briefly on the cheek before telling her he'd see her at school. Breseis's heart sank as his lips touched Pansy's face but she couldn't help but smile as he pulled her arm back as they walked away. She smacked his arm again affectionately as he mimicked her: "_Pleased to meet you, Pansy_."

Pansy watched them saunter off to Flourish and Blotts, arm in arm. She still felt angry, and she was already vowing revenge on the stupid, ugly, skinny bitch who was trying to stick her claws into Draco.

She was completely unaware of the silent guilt Breseis was suffering.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **_Not a particularly exciting update today, sorry, but stay tuned to see a ghost from Breseis's past…_

Dandylion_05

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Platform 9 ¾ was strangely quiet, Draco observed. There was no doubt about it, there were less people than normal. The muggle-born population of Hogwarts were now all either in hiding or imprisoned in Azkaban. However, there were still enough people on the platform that there should have been a considerable noise. Draco watched as parents, faces pale and drawn, held onto their children tightly before seeing them directly onto the Hogwarts Express. Their fear was tangible, and he felt for them.

Breseis stood at his side. Already dressed in her new school robes, he thought she looked very strange. He was so used to seeing her in her, somewhat dramatic, silky, French clothing and the plain robes made her look like another person. Secretly, he noted that they made her look a little prettier, her hair a tiny bit shinier. But then again, perhaps it was just that in her school robes she no longer looked like a Death Eater.

His mother leant in a kissed his cheek, leaving a crimson smudge of lipstick. His father gripped his shoulder sombrely and Draco patted his hand. He watched Breseis tentatively reach up on her tiptoes and wrap her arms around Rabastan's neck. Rabastan awkwardly patted her back once before unwinding her arms. They turned to leave then, bidding final farewells. Draco and Breseis strode to the train, fearful faces moving quickly and silently to create a straight path for them. Breseis glanced back over her shoulder to see her father turning on the spot and disappearing into thin air. He hadn't stayed to see that she left safely.

She followed Draco silently onto the train, ignoring the unpleasant, constricted feeling in her chest. Draco peered into the windows of the compartments as he passed them, and Breseis hoped he was seeking an empty one so that they could be alone together for the journey, which she understood was quite long. Her heart sank a little as Draco opened the door to a compartment where three boys sat. Two were big and burly with thickset features and jet black hair. The other was tall and slim, with luminous dark skin and strange slanting eyes.

Draco took Breseis's heavy trunk and heaved it onto the luggage rack above him before sitting down beside the boy with the strange eyes, leaving enough room for her to sit beside him. She felt annoyed by the way the three boys were appraising her, their eyes moving too slowly up her gaunt frame. She sat defiant, though, willing one of them to pass a comment and feel her wrath. There was something about returning to school that was making her feel angry- or, at least, angrier than was usual.

Draco cleared his throat. "This is Breseis," he said, patting her knee awkwardly, "She's my Uncle Rabastan's daughter.

"Breseis," he turned to her now, "This is Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle," he indicated the burly boys opposite, "and Blaise Zabini."

"How do you do?" she spoke and he was more aware than normal of her strange drawl.

The compartment door opened again, and Pansy entered, greeting the boys before noticing Breseis. She stared at her scathingly for a few moments before choosing to ignore her and turning to Draco.

"We have to go to the prefects cart," she smiled, triumphant that Breseis wouldn't be able to follow him there.

"Will you be okay on your own?" he turned to Breseis, concern on his face, before glancing at Crabbe and Goyle.

"I'm a big girl, Draco," she said, "I can look after myself."

He smiled apologetically at her as Pansy grasped his hand tightly and dragged him from the compartment somewhat violently. Breseis cast her eyes around the compartment again. Zabini was eyeing her strangely, as if he didn't quite know what to make of her. She stared back at him, one eyebrow raised at how openly he was looking at her. Unfazed, he turned to look out of the window. The compartment was completely silent. Breseis felt like it was going to be a long journey.

* * *

An hour later, Breseis followed Zabini down the train. The time in the compartment had elapsed slowly and silently, besides from the occasional snore from Crabbe and Goyle. They smelt slightly of stale ale, and Breseis could only assume they had spent the previous night in the pub. _Every girls' dream_, she mused.

A small and terrified looking student, presumably only a second or third year, had knocked the compartment door not five minutes ago. She had two notes, one for Blaise and one for Breseis. The note was an invitation to lunch from a Professor Slughorn. Zabini had told her he knew where to go and she had accepted his offer to lead the way.

"So, how do you know Slughorn?" Zabini asked, looking over his shoulder.

"I don't," she replied.

"Does your father?" he asked.

"That's doubtful, he's just served sixteen years in Azkaban, more or less," she said, sounding bored now, "he was only twenty one when he was sent down, and before that I doubt he ran in the same circles as a professor, somehow. "

"What about your mother?" Zabini pressed, unfazed by her rude tone.

Breseis thought of her mother and felt an alien pang of sadness. Marie Désirée lived with her head in the clouds, dancing through life and ignoring it's stresses. Breseis's stepfather, Vlad, spent most of him time caring for her and ensuring her life was as simple as possible. It was no secret that Marie's mental health was at best unstable. Breseis still missed her mother, though, and she could feel the distance growing further between them with every moment. But, like Draco said, there was no looking back now.

"I don't think she would know a professor either," Blaise stopped and waited for the explanation. With a small huff Breseis gave it to him, "Well, for one thing, she's French and hasn't lived in Britain for some time now. She came to school here for a couple of years, but she was never particularly talented. After that, she worked as a model and wrote a column for Witch Weekly, and then she became pregnant with me and had to marry my father." Breseis finished with a shrug.

"A model?" Blaise repeated, "A famous model?"

"I suppose so," Breseis replied, remembering a creepy old wizard who used to stalk her mother when Breseis was only about five years old. He would lurk at the bottom of the garden with a camera, waiting for a chance to take a photograph of her to add to his, already extensive, collection. It was because of the stalker that Vlad had been brought into their lives. He had been an auror with the British Ministry at the time, and Marie and Breseis were still living in Rabastan's house, as Marie had become somewhat agoraphobic. Vlad had been sent to deal with the stalker and Marie had fallen madly in love with him. Clearly, he had fallen in love with her, as well, and within the year they were married. Still, Breseis's mother would have had to be pretty important to get an auror on her case, and pretty famous to have a stalker.

"That's it then," Blaise told her, "Slughorn loves famous people."

He pulled open a door and entered a plush, if somewhat crammed, compartment. A large mix of students sat around a table covered with all sorts of interesting looking foods. At the head of the table sat a balding, portly man wearing a green, velvet waistcoat and smiling widely. He clapped together two chubby hands, his round cheeks flushing rosy read with enthusiasm.

"Mr Zabini!" he called, gesturing a seat beside a girl with wildly red hair, who gave Blaise a surly look, "Welcome back! And our newcomer!" he beamed at Breseis and patted the seat beside himself, "come and take a seat."

Breseis had less trouble than Blaise as she made her way across the compartment to the seat the portly man had indicated. Blaise had stumbled awkwardly, crashing into people as he tried to manoeuvre his way through the small space between the compartment door and his seat. Breseis ghosted it, her narrow hips easily missing every obstacle.

When she sat down the elderly man offered her his chubby hand.

"_Mademoiselle_," he greeted her, gently pressing his lips and bristly moustache onto her bony hand, "I am Professor Slughorn, as I'm sure you had guessed."

He went on to introduce the rest of the compartment to her, starting with a round faced boy sitting on his other side, named Neville Longbottom. Breseis couldn't remember why she recognised his name, and missed almost everyone else's as she studied his face, trying her best to remember.

"And this, everyone, is Mademoiselle Breseis Désirée," he put his hand on Breseis's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "Daughter of a wonderful French model who used to torment my Potions classroom! And you, my dear, are almost the exact image of her!"

"Lestrange," Breseis corrected, noticing out of the corner of her eye the way the round-faced boy bent forward and peered around Professor Slughorn as she spoke, "It's Breseis _Lestrange_, Professor."

She thought she saw his smile falter slightly as she corrected him. He made no reply, but instead invited everyone to tuck in to the miniature feast before them.

"Some sweet meat, Miss Désirée?" he asked her, causing her jaw to tense in annoyance.

"No thank you," she replied, instead reaching for a rosy apple. She needed something that would make a noise as she destroyed it in her small rage.

Professor Slughorn continued to call her by her mother's maiden name throughout the meal, to her severe irritation. And the boy named Neville could not tear his eyes away.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Breseis stepped out of the train and looked past the crowd of excitable students and up to the skyline. The teetering roofs of the little village, billows of smoke emanating from their chimneys and hazy lights seeping out from behind curtains, was entirely endearing and not at all to her tastes. However, further back the high reaching spires and turrets, the tall towers and sharp, gothic edges of the castle, silhouetted against the dark purplish blue of the sky took her breath away. She doubted if she had ever seen a piece of architecture more to her taste and she felt her heart flutter at the thought of the mahogany four poster beds and large fire places that Draco had described. She hadn't even entered the school grounds yet and she already felt at home.

Draco watched her drink in her first glimpse of Hogwarts and smiled secretly out of one corner of his mouth. The first time he had seen the school, he had blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. Breseis believed straight away. She shook her head a little, dazed at the magnificence of Hogwarts and he walked to her side and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Not bad, is it?" he whispered and she shook her head properly this time, allowing him to catch the scent of her luxurious curls as she did so.

A little behind them, Pansy watched sullenly as her boyfriend stood too closely to the new girl. She was exotic, Breseis, Pansy would give her that much- and she had _really _nice hair. But she was nothing special. Her eyes were a little too close together, she had observed, like many purebloods. The curses of inbreeding had their physical effects. And her bone structure was slightly masculine. And, of course, she was ridiculously skinny. Pansy looked at her silly little toothpick legs in their silly silk stockings and repressed a triumphant laugh: real woman had curves.

"See something you like, Pansy?" Blaise asked silkily at her side, one eyebrow raised cockily.

"Don't be pathetic, Blaise," she tossed some of her long black hair behind her shoulder, "You know just as well as I do that there is nothing to like there."

"Do I?" As she turned to look at him he was already striding towards Breseis and offering to lift her trunk into a carriage for her. Pansy let out a huff at his treachery and marched off in the direction of their carriage with as much disdain as she could muster.

Behind her Draco was following Blaise and dragging his own trunk, chatting away about the Slytherin common room. It took him a while to notice that Breseis was not actually at his side. He looked behind him to see her staring straight in front of her, obviously shocked at something.

"Breseis?" he called, watching as her eyebrows furrowed a little in the light of the train, she didn't move. He rushed back to her side. "Breseis?"

"What are those horrible…things?" she whispered, pointing in the direction of the carriage with one hand and grabbing his arm with the other..

"The Thestrals?" he asked unsurely.

He had been able to see the strange, skeletal horse-like creatures since the previous summer. Only those who had seen death could actually see their form. He shuddered at the memories of the things he had seen, done, before being allowed to join the Death Eaters. Breseis had had it easy.

"Thestrals?" she said, her voice quivering a shade less.

"Have you heard of them before?" he asked and she nodded.

"But I've never see one before," she told him, her eyebrows un-furrowing and her expression regaining its normal composure.

"But you can see them now?" he pressed.

"Yes." she told him simply.

"Breseis, you can only see them if you seen death," he said quietly.

"I know that," she snapped, releasing his arm from her death grip and swallowing loudly.

"Breseis," Draco asked, "who did you see-"

"Let's go, then, we don't want to be late," she was already striding towards the carriages, desperately avoiding looking at the strange horses. She only breathed again once she was safely in the carriage.

* * *

The group of First Years was waning at the front of the magnificent Great Hall. The woman with the pinched face and the tight bun in her hair, Professor McGonagall, was calling out those with surnames beginning in "W." Breseis felt a knot of fear in her stomach. The Sorting Hat was very quick sometimes, and she was more than sure of her destined house. She would wager that the hat would barely scrape her hair before announcing her as a Slytherin. It was desperately important that that _did not happen_.

She sat in one of a group of assembled chairs at the front of the hall. Newcomers who were not First Years had been told to sit here until the First Year Sorting was over. She sat beside a large amount of red haired, freckle faced people with rural accents she took to be relatives, as well as a fair few students with deep tans and blackest black hair: gypsies being forced to attend school under the new laws. Professor McGonagall was calling on "Young, Gertrude." Breseis suppressed a gulp and flicked her eyes over to the Slytherin table. It was comforting to see that Draco was looking over at her. He flashed her a small smile and she felt a small bit less fearful.

He had promised he would sort things out, should anything go wrong. Things wouldn't be unbearable for her mother. Draco would go to Durmstrang, Marie would remain clueless. She would try and make it easier for Draco, firstly by making that hat think about its decision. The last thing she would need if the Ministry changed hands would be a ton of character witnesses talking about the bloody Hogwarts Sorting Hat immediately calling her out as sly and devious.

She found herself clapping politely as the last First Year was sorted (into Hufflepuff.) Professor McGonagall stepped in front of the stool and the Sorting Hat, readying herself to announce to the school what was going to happen next. Breseis ran her gaze along the table behind McGonagall, where all the teachers were sat. She noticed Professor Slughorn, who winked at her, and Snape, his black eyes watching the Slytherin table carefully. She wanted to cackle at the very idea of having a Death Eater in charge of a school: it was too perfect. She noticed two other Death Eaters on the top table, the Carrows. They were almost as sadistic as Bellatrix. Breseis could picture Vlad's face puckering in distaste.

"As some of you may know," Professor McGonagall began, "new legislation has been brought into place which declares that all magical children of school age dwelling in Britain must attend Hogwarts. As a result there are new pupils now attending Hogwarts who are starting above First Year, joining us either from foreign schools or home education," she nodded over to the small group of new students sitting by the teacher's table, "These students will now be sorted into their Houses."

Breseis found herself gripping the seat a little too tight as she waited to hear her name. Two, three, four people were sorted, and her grip became tighter and tighter. _I am not scared, _she told herself, _I am a Death Eater, and I am not scared. _

"Lestrange, Breseis," Professor McGonagall called out, and Breseis immediately stood up, her mouth a hard line and her face concealing the terror inside. She was aware of people murmuring and she could just imagine that they were assuming she was the offspring of Bellatrix, the most famous Lestrange. _Don't they realise she's too much of a psychopath to procreate?_ she thought savagely.

Paler than was quite healthy, she lifted the strangely heavy hat from the stool. In one smooth, simultaneous motion she sat down and placed the hat carefully on her head.

"STOP!" she shrieked internally, "Do not say one word."

There was silence.

"Very clever," the hat said after a moment, "I know where I'm putting you."

"Don't. You. Dare." she thought sharply, "Now, listen to me very carefully,"I have the measure of you, and I have the measure of what these houses mean to people, so before you go shouting your mouth off to the entire school I want you to sit there nice and quietly for a moment."

"Why should I do that?" the hat asked her.

"Because you have not met anyone quite like me in a long time, and if you tell everyone now, you shall not have the chance to have a good look around. Complicated minds are the most interesting," she replied.

"And what if I change my mind about what house you should be in?"

"You won't," she said simply, "I know myself better than you do."

A whole minute passed as the Hat sifted through her mind, her thoughts and ideas, her memories.

"You are quite right," the hat told her eventually, "I have not changed my mind. However, you do not know yourself as well as you would like to think, my dear, and you will doubtless learn that at a price."

Breseis rolled her eyes beneath the hat's brim.

"Slytherin!" It called out to the entire Great Hall, and Breseis lifted it from her head, saying a small thank you before it was completely off, and settled it back on the stool. She smiled at the small applause and moved to the Slytherin, where Draco was already making space for her.

Pansy did not look impressed.

After the feast, the Slytherins moved down to the Dungeons, where their dormitories lay. Breseis moved slowly and sleepily, gripping Draco's arm for support. By the time they reached the trap door at the entrance to the Common Room Draco had scooped her exhausted form up into his arms, much to Pansy's horror, and he carried her across the common room and into the dormitory she was to share with Pansy and the other seventh year girls. He placed her on the bed beside her trunk, where one of her skimpy night slips already lay waiting for her. He pulled the curtains around her, though not before secretly brushing his lips across her forehead.

"Goodnight," he whispered through the curtains.

"Night night," Breseis replied sleepily, pulling her jumper over her head.

Draco waved a brief goodnight to Pansy before making his way to his own dorm. Pansy went to the doorway and watched him go, a fierce anger growing in the pit of her stomach.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Lots and lots going on this update, and it's the longest one I've done so far = ]

Enjoy and cheers for all the reviews and favourites etc

Dandylion_05 x

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Breseis stepped out of the long winding corridor of dormitories into the Slytherin Common Room early the next morning. She was bright eyed and well rested, not to mention surprised she had no recollection of the room before her from the previous evening. The Common Room was gorgeous. There was a hazy green light streaming through the high windows from the lake, illuminating leather upholstered arm chairs and couches in emeralds and jades. The ceiling was low and plush, green cloths hung over it, concealing the cold stone. A deep, thick green rug covered the stone slabs of the floor, and a fire was already blazing in the large mahogany fireplace. Breseis got the sense that it burned all day, every day in the chilly dungeon dormitories.

She dug her fingers deep into her cloak pockets as she made her way across the Common Room to the trap door. She could only vaguely remember the way back to the Great Hall and was thankful that once she got outside, there were a couple of Second Years wandering along the hall, sure to be going in the direction of breakfast. She focused on committing the complex labyrinth of passageways to memory as she followed the small students. Soon she could smell the strong scent of bacon and eggs. She got the impression she was going to put on a lot of weight living here.

The Great Hall was bright when she entered, the sun high and beaming in the enchanted sky. Breseis spied Draco sitting with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and a cup of tea, all by himself. Her heart soared. She hurried down the hall and slipped in beside him, stealing his cup of tea through the gap between the bottom of his paper and the table.

"Hey!" he cried incredulously, putting the paper down but smiling when he saw Breseis.

"Morning," she took a sip of his tea and screwed up her face at the taste.

"That's what you get for stealing other people's tea!" he told her, taking the mug back.

"Yes, well I'll remember that in future, so you needn't worry," she reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, taking a scalding gulp to get rid of the horrible taste of Draco's tea from her mouth, "how can you drink that? It's horrible!"

Draco shrugged. "Did you sleep fine?" he asked.

"Mmhmmm," she blew on the coffee now, "Thanks for putting me to bed. I was exhausted."

"Yeah, I noticed," he smirked.

They sipped their drinks and smiled secretly at each other, their knees bumping beneath the table and igniting a glorious spark of electricity between them. Those jolts of electricity were what they lived for. Jolts of lust-filled electricity shooting through their bodies were the highlights of their days, filling the empty void of their existence, reminding them that they were real.

All too soon Pansy turned up in the dining hall, her hair shining perhaps a little too brightly from the vast amount of Breseis's hair sleeking potion she had stolen moments before. She sat herself opposite Draco and reached across to take his hand. Breseis immediately sat up straighter and stopped rubbing her knee against Draco's thigh. She thought she might throw up in her cornflakes as she was once more reminded that Draco was _not hers_.

Thankfully, Professor Slughorn was walking towards her, smiling widely, a blank piece of parchment in his hand, ready to take her mind off things.

"Good morning, _Mademoiselle_ Désirée!" he called, before sitting down beside Pansy.

"Good morning, Professor," she replied.

"I've come to sort out your timetable," he told her, "it's my duty as your Head of House," he boasted.

"Oh, okay then," she said, her enthusiasm not quite matching his.

"So what are you interested in?" he asked, "Dark Arts and Muggle Studies are compulsory, but what do you like?"

"Charms," she said quickly, "and Transfiguration_. _They've always been my favourites."

"Just like your mother," Slughorn chuckled, tapping the blank piece of parchment with his wand to reveal a timetable with the four subjects they had listed shown at various intervals throughout her week. "What else?"

"I'm not sure," she said honestly.

"Well, I must have you in my Potions classroom, young lady," he said.

"Oh no, Professor, that's not a very good idea, maybe something less practical. History of Magic? I would be perfect for History of Magic!" she argued desperately.

"You can take both," he tapped the timetable twice and held his hand up as she tried to argue again, "I will not take no for an answer! Have a good day Miss Désirée"

Breseis consulted her timetable, ignoring Pansy's question of "why did he call you _that_?" She had a study period first, followed by Dark Arts (no longer referred to as _Defence Against _the Dark Arts.) Once Draco had received his timetable, she immediately turned around to consult with him.

"Oh look, we have the same classes this morning!" she smiled, unaware of Pansy's scowl.

"I have Divination first," she said huffily.

"They offer that as a subject here?" Breseis asked.

"Of course they do," Pansy snapped.

"Really?" Breseis looked amused, "At Durmstrang it was nothing but an extra-curricular club that barely anybody went to. It's considered a bit of a joke there."

"Well _here_ it's a subject," Pansy said.

Draco glared at her; she was being so needlessly rude. He supposed she had always been like that and he had just failed to notice before. Either that or he had been so needlessly rude with her that her behaviour had seemed normal. He suspected the latter option somewhat.

The bell for the beginning of first period rang soon after and Breseis and Draco made their way back to the common room to sit in front of the fire together. Neither could wait to just sit and look into each other's eyes, and feel those spark of irresistible electricity.

They both thanked some higher entity that Pansy could not read minds.

* * *

Draco and Breseis walked into the Dark Arts classroom and sat down next to Blaise. At the other side of the room, the Gryffindors in their class had already started to congregate and were glaring over at the Slytherins. Draco couldn't help but notice that their numbers were somewhat diminished. As yet there was no sign of Professor Carrow, the new teacher and Draco and Breseis's fellow Death Eater.

Pansy entered the classroom and looked around for Draco. Blood began to angrily pound in her ears as she saw that he was sitting with _her _and hadn't even saved his girlfriend a seat. She went to sit beside Millicent and Audra, her two friends, audibly huffing. Breseis's stomach gave an unwelcome but all too familiar lurch as she saw this. Guilt was rife in her veins once more.

Professor Carrow was a dumpy little wizard with an uncaring nature. He lumbered into the classroom, banging the door shut behind him and leering around the room. The girls sat up straighter, squirming silently, and even people like Zabini, who weren't usually scared of anyone, felt slightly uneasy in his presence.

"'Allo class," he spoke in a horrible, grating voice, "'Ow's it going?"

When he arrived at the board at the front of the classroom, he picked up a piece of chalk and scribbled "Curses," onto it. The entire classroom stiffened.

"Curses," he said, turning around, "Somefing that the Government fink all you little kiddies should know about. Know how to use them, eh? As your new Dark Arts teacher, it's my job to teach you."

"I thought that this class was called _Defence _Against the Dark Arts," a voice from the Gryffindor side of the classroom called out. When Breseis looked over, she saw it was the boy who had openly glared at her yesterday, Neville Longbottom.

"Shut your mouth, boy," Professor Carrow spat, "Or I'll put you in detention!"

For some reason this sounded more unsavoury than it should have. He looked around the class, breathing heavily, wand clutched in his right hand and his eyes on fire.

"Today we will be beginning with the Big Uns," he announced, "Gimme their names."

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Breseis sighed in annoyance and put her hand gracefully into the air.

"Lestange?" Carrow said to her, with a knowing smile.

"The Cruciatus Curse," she said.

"Yup," Carrow bent forward slightly and looked around the class again, eyes narrowed, waiting to be spoken back too, "used for torture, that one is kiddies. Breseis knows all about that un."

Breseis flushed a little and her jaw tightened at the remark. She didn't need to look to know that Neville Longbottom, along with almost everyone else, was staring at her in disgust. She had stupidly forgotten to factor her father's reputation into her evaluation of how students would take to her.

"Anuvva one," Carrow commanded.

"The Imperius Curse," Breseis said, adding, "Used to control another human being completely."

"Well done, well done," Carrow leered, "And the last un, the biggest un? Eh?"

Breseis sat in silence. She was now the one who could hear the blood pounding in her ears, feel it rushing through her head, she felt completely dizzy, she knew everyone in the classroom was staring at her. She had to do it, had to say it, but the words just wouldn't come. They played over and over again in her mind but when she opened her mouth there was nothing but silence and the overwhelming urge to be sick.

"Well?" Carrow jeered.

"_Avada Kedavra,_" she whispered.

"Exactly!" Carrow said, "Of course none of you little wimps will be powerful enough to do that un," he looked straight at Draco, who squirmed in discomfort "but you might be able to produce the others, if yer lucky."

Most of the class looked sickened; however, it was the two Death Eaters who looked most ill. Unbeknownst to Breseis, her greenish hue was winning her a fair amount of sympathy.

"Right then," Carrow continued, "I got us a Boggart to practice Cruciating on. Breseis, you go first." He pointed a stumpy figure at Breseis.

"What?" she asked her face aghast.

"Come on, up here, you show us how it's done."

"Professor Carrow, I don't think that's the best idea-"

"Why the bloody hell not? Keep it in the family, eh? Besides you're from Durmstrang, you probably already know all this," Carrow laughed.

She thought of her father again, and those people he had helped torture into insanity. Something clicked in her mind and she turned back to Neville Longbottom. Longbottom, she repeated in her mind. He was their son, the son of her father's victims. She could feel sweat layering on her brow and she thought that if she made any sudden movements she might faint.

She took a deep breath. She was not about to make a fool of herself in front of this article of a Death Eater. The Dark Lord would hear, and if nothing else, she wanted to please him. She stood up, her face set like stone, avoiding Draco's horrified expression. She walked to the front of the classroom to face the cupboard that Carrow had gestured to, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had done this before, everyone at Durmstrang had. Not often, of course, but knowing how to use the curses was part of understanding them. That wasn't what worried her. And people's opinion, well she could hopefully fix that with a few choice tears. It wasn't the performing of the curse itself that scared her, it was what was about to come out of that cupboard.

The door opened. Draco's heart skipped a beat. What on earth could Breseis be so frightened of? He saw a pair of legs in blood red robes step out from the gap beneath the open door and walk forward. Breseis's face flinched in fear. The door snapped shut, and there stood a boy, and absolute Adonis of a boy, with dark locks of hair and a chiselled jaw and the impression of sturdy muscles under his too-tight uniform.

Breseis's face was horror-struck; tears were filling her glassy blue eyes; her mouth was open aghast. She forced her eyes shut, raised her wand and took a deep breath.

"Crucio!" it was barely more than a whisper, a whisper full of despair, but the gorgeous boy fell to the floor, writhing and screaming in pain.

She opened her eyes for the briefest second, but the sight she saw made her instantly shut them again. After that, the screaming stopped and the Boggart-boy quickly disappeared back into the cupboard, making it shake.

"Excuse me," Breseis muttered, running back down the middle of the classroom and out the door, tears streaming down her cheeks and her hand clamped over her mouth.

Draco stared aghast after her with mingled confusion and despair. He had never, ever seen someone inflict as much pain as that with a mere whisper. It terrified him that she was that powerful. And he didn't understand her Boggart. The thing she supposedly feared most was a Durmstrang boy- it didn't make sense. He felt a pang of sadness that there was so much Breseis felt she had to keep from him.

Pansy and Blaise watched him stare out the open classroom door after Breseis as she sprinted down the corridor. They were both beginning to plot.

* * *

Reviews are received with love = ]


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Thanks for sticking with me this far = ]

Dandylion_05x

p.s. Read on to discover more about the strange Boggart…

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

It wasn't until after dinner that Draco caught sight of Breseis again. Although they were in several classes together, she had never appeared in any, and mealtimes had been just the same. Draco was worried. Breseis had been in an awful state when she left the Dark Arts lesson that morning. He wanted to check that she was okay, make sure that she didn't need anything, or anyone, and possibly most of all, he wanted to find out who the hell that boy-Boggart had been. Because when Draco found out, he would hunt him down and break his neck.

He left dinner early made his way back to what he knew to be an empty common room. Pansy and her friends were still in the Great Hall, speculating as most of the year now was, over what had made Breseis, a _Lestrange_, so terrified. Who was the mystery boy? Gossip was rife.

On entering the common room, Draco spied Breseis sitting on one of the leather armchairs in the corner, staring into space and twirling her long curls with her fingers. He walked over to her and placed a hand on her arm: she was freezing cold.

"I'll get you a jumper or something, you're freezing," he said, half-smiling at her, his eyes swimming with concern.

"No, don't bother, I'm fine," she said, although her eyes deceived her.

"No really, I'll just be two minutes-"

"Stop," she whispered, "Please stop."

He looked at her with the utmost concern. He hated seeing her so vulnerable. She was strong and powerful and she wasn't supposed to be scared of anything. When she was vulnerable he felt completely powerless, because truth be told she was his power and he needed her so much more than he was willing to believe.

"We have to talk," she said, miserably, "Sit down."

She looked towards the common room door, checking that no one like Pansy or Blaise was around to interrupt before turning back to Draco, who remained standing, towering above her.

"Is this where you tell me who that Boggart was impersonating?" he asked her, his tone stern.

"No," she whispered, her eyes cast down, "this is where I tell you that we have to stop this."

"Okay," he said with a smirk.

"This isn't a joke, Draco," she snapped, looking up at him fiercely.

"Isn't it?" he smiled, "Only I do believe that you have said we had to stop this, whatever _this_ is, before. Yet here we are again. So you'll forgive me for not being entirely convinced."

"Draco, I'm serious."

He looked into her eyes and saw that something had changed. Something about her breathed honesty, and her expression was full of pain. He knew in an instant that she meant what she said. His face fell as her eyes began to swim with tears.

"But, Breseis," he began in tones of urgency, "I lo-"

"Stop," she interrupted him, "Just, stop."

"No, Breseis, I won't. This is ridiculous," he watched her blink back her tears, "Look, I'll leave Pansy and we can stop messing about, because I've had enough."

She looked away and wiped under her eyes, but two fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and her shaking hands just couldn't catch them. Draco turned her face towards him. He crouched down in front of her and placed his hands on her cold cheeks, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. She let her face rest there in the palms of his hands and the tears slipped freely down her face; raindrops spoiling a perfect day.

"No," she whispered, "It will cause too much trouble. I can't be that person. I left that person behind."

"What person?" he asked, his eyes searching her face, "Has this got something to do with that- that boy. The one with the Durmstrang robes. The Boggart?"

She pulled away from his hands now, shakily attempting to wipe away her tears by herself.

"Forget about him, he's not important," she said, her voice every bit as shaky as her hands. She cast her eyes down and took a deep breath. Draco wasn't convinced.

"What did he do to you?" he coaxed, leaning in further and looking into her eyes.

"Nothing, okay? He's nobody, I just…I just made the Boggart into him," she lied poorly.

"Look!" he snapped, his face angry now, "Will you stop lying to me, please? I'm not an idiot! Why are you scared of him?"

"Don't shout at me!" she yelled back.

"I'll stop when you give me some bloody answers!"

"Draco-"

"Who is he?" Draco's voice boomed across the empty common room, "Come on Breseis, who the hell is he?"

"I've already told you," her voice was every bit as loud, her face every bit as angry, "He- is- no one!"

"Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not!"

"Yes you are. Just tell me who he bloody is?"

"He was my boyfriend, okay?" she shouted, tears flowing from her eyes now and her voice breaking into a tremble, "are you happy now? I loved him and he broke my heart."

Draco went rigid as she put her head on the palms of her hands and sobbed. He stood up and lifted her from her elbows and brought her back into the chair with him, so that she sat on his knee, sobbing into the hard muscles of his chest. He wasn't sure how much time was told out only by the sound of Breseis's sobs and the soft rustle of her hair as he stroked it.

"Breseis, tell me why you're scared of him," he whispered.

"I can't," she sobbed.

"You can tell me anything," he said, sitting her up so that he could look into her eyes.

"It's not important anymore," she whispered, "What's important is that no one else gets hurt. Pansy is a nice girl, she doesn't deserve to feel like this," she gestured herself.

"Pansy and nice? Are you sure you've got the right person?" Draco looked at her sceptically.

"Draco!"

"She's rude, obnoxious, not to mention the way she acts like a petulant child," he listed, "I'm not in love with her."

"You might grow to be," she said softly, "She loves you."

"What makes you think _you _deserve to feel like this?" he asked, deliberately steering the discussion away from Pansy.

"It's not important," she said, "It's- it's in the past.""

He sighed and pulled her into him again, enjoying the feel of her breath on his chest. His shirt was wet with her tears and rumpled from her lying there. And Breseis herself, well she looked like she had been crying her entire life her eyes were so red.

"Draco, please give Pansy a chance," she whispered, "Please just be my friend. I can't be this girl now. I can't sink that low."

"Okay, we can stop," he agreed, "Just be friends. But you have to tell me things."

She smiled at him and squeezed his arm before getting off his lap and disappearing off to her dormitory to clean herself up. It was Draco's turn to put his head in his hands now. He knew it was cliché but his heart broke as he said those words.

Unbeknownst to either Draco or Breseis, the apparently empty common room was not as empty as they thought. A certain dark onlooker had been lurking unnoticed in another corner and had witnessed every single detail of Breseis and Draco's meeting.

A smile, verging on a smirk, played on the lips of Blaise Zabini, even as the common room began to fill up after dinner. And the plan he was steadily forming in his mind was firmly based around the things he heard while sitting in the leather-upholstered chair in the shadows of the dungeon common room.

* * *

The Common Room was full when Breseis returned. She wore green cotton sweatpants and fur lined snow boots, warm remnants of her years living in the far north. Draco almost choked when he saw her dressed so casually. He hadn't been aware she owned anything that wasn't made out of 100% silk. She looked nice, more human. She was almost immediately surrounded by a gaggle of girls checking that she was okay, asking how scared she had been and generally showering her with attention.

Blaise stood up and walked over to the small cluster of girls sitting by the fire. There was a collective intake of breath from everyone in the group, save Breseis, as he walked towards them. Blaise Zabini, by far the best-looking Slytherin, was coming over to them. He smiled cockily at them all, but his attention soon focused on Miss Lestrange. Several pairs of eyes burned with jealousy.

He squeezed her shoulder gently and smiled at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, smiling somewhat knowingly at her.

She tilted her head slightly, considering him, checking his sincerity. She was unsure what to make of his expression.

"Yes thank you," she replied, returning his smile uneasily.

Across the room, Draco silently fumed. Luckily for him Pansy was also looking in the direction of Breseis and Blaise, and so did not see him boiling with anger. She muttered a goodnight before huffily stomping off towards the dormitories, throwing dirty looks in the direction of Blaise, who was now sitting with Breseis in deep conversation.

She stormed into the dormitory and threw herself onto her bed. Why could no one else see that Breseis was a first class bitch? She had managed to cruciate a Boggart by practically whispering the spell. That was not the sign of a nice person. That was the sign of someone evil. A bitch, say?

She was also, quite clearly, a wimp. Normal people were scared of monsters like giant spiders and vampires. She was scared of an, admittedly very good-looking, boy. _Probably scared that someone will come along and distract her from her plans to ruin _my _life! _Pansy thought bitterly to herself.

She glared over at Breseis's bed, it was almost scarily neat and ordered. She was surprised to see something out of place. Something that looked like a piece of paper sitting on the plump duvet, abandoned. Pansy didn't have to think twice before standing up and hurrying over to the bed to pick it up.

She gasped. The piece of paper was in fact a photograph of Breseis and two other people all wearing blood-red Durmstrang robes. One of the other people was a girl who stood beside Breseis, fluttering her long eyelashes. She was blonde and pretty and pouty and Pansy thought she looked every bit as annoying as Breseis. But it wasn't the girl that caught her attention. It was the other person. The boy. The dark haired, muscular boy who Pansy had seen climb out of a cupboard that very morning.

He was even more handsome up close, and smiled devilishly out of the picture, winking cheekily at Pansy. He had his muscular arms wrapped protectively around Breseis and she was holding onto one of his elbows and staring dreamily, lovingly, up at his face.

Pansy turned the picture over. It read,

'_Anya, Paris and Breseis, Durmstrang, March 1997. _

_B, I love you, Paris x_.'

Something in Pansy's mind clicked. Paris was her boyfriend. Breseis was in love with Paris. She was keeping him a secret so as to woo Draco and ruin Pansy's life because, as she had already established, Breseis was a mad, psycho-bitch. Breseis was scared of being found out, that's why this 'Paris' had been her Boggart. And obviously, no one wants to cruciate someone they love, no wonder she had gotten so upset. Pansy smiled wickedly with pride. Everything suddenly made perfect sense.

She had no idea how completely wrong she was.

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Reviews are received with love. = ]


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Thick, grey slabs of stone made up the steep, winding staircase. They made the steps themselves, the walls, the ceiling; completely encasing the narrow space. A stone prison. They emitted a damp cold that Breseis could feel, even through her thick woolen tights. It was May, but Durmstrang was still a cold place, surrounded by the remainders of the winter snow. Snow which fell in flakes from the thick, fur-lined boots Breseis held under one arm. The snow dripped onto the grey wool of her tights, the purple wool of her dress, but didn't melt, couldn't melt. The staircase was too cold.

Breseis imagined the warmth of the dormitory above. The fur rug which she could lie on in front of the crackling fire. The thick blankets of her warm and inviting bed. She imagined the summer she would spend in the south of France, soaking up rays of sunshine and regaining a healthy glow to hide her pallid, Lestrange skin. Total escapism from the chill of the narrow, winding staircase.

It was then that she heard the laugh, _her_ laugh. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch.

A shocking déjá vu swarmed over her with that girlish simper, carried from the dorm above and down the stairs, into Breseis's ears. That musical laugh that Breseis worked so hard to block from her memory brought on new waves of nausea. She could feel the bile rising from her stomach, and the sweat forming on her brow, even though she was now aware that she was unconscious. And she knew what was coming next.

The loud gasp, still girlish, still part of that musical little laugh, was next to meet Breseis's ears and her entire body tensed at its sound. She pushed her self up against the curved, stone walls, begging for the cold to sooth her. This could not be happening again, she told her self, it just couldn't. She could not be here again. She couldn't bare it. She dug her nails into her palms, closed her eyes, and concentrated on not hearing. _ Wake up_, her thoughts screamed, _for God__'__s sake wake up!_

She opened her eyes, wishing, praying, begging to see reality, to see the thick emerald curtains of her new bed. But her eyes were merely met with the sight of never ending stone slabs, curving with the steps. She looked down at herself and felt another sickening lurch of her stomach. She was dressed exactly the same as on _that _day. The same grey wool tights. The same dark purple jersey dress. The same boots slung under her arm. Even the ring, the very same ring, with the little opals, her favourite gemstone, surrounding the large diamond on the delicate gold band. She was the mirror of her own ghost, right down to the finest detail.

Her breathing was uneven. Her forehead was sweaty. She felt nauseas from her every pore and she thought it couldn't get any worse.

She was wrong.

Her feet began to climb the stairs of their own accord, dragging her with them. She tried to cling to the smooth wall, but there was nothing to hold onto. She tried to close her eyes, scrunch them up, blind herself, but they were stuck open. It was as if her body was reliving the whole experience exactly while her mind was sickeningly aware of what awaited her at the top of the stairs. This was not how it was meant to be. Her mind should be as blissfully unaware as her feet! That was how this nightmare should play, _had_ played in the early summer months. Before she had come to England, before she had met Draco. But there was no Draco here. She could feel hot tears leaking from her eyes and she fought against the inevitable, trying to drag her feet back down the stairs, away from the torture ahead and knowing it was impossible.

She could see the dormitory door now, thick mahogany, and open ajar. She knew what was in there, who was in there. She could hear them. She knew, but it did not stop her pushing the door open and seeing the things she had seen once before with conscious eyes, and several times after under the veil of sleep. It was perfectly recounted down to the muffled thump of her snow boots falling to the ground.

* * *

There was a dull thud as Breseis's head collapsed on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. She was covered in a thin layer of sweat and every part of her body burned. She had emptied her stomach completely and yet she continued to wretch, the sick feeling in her gut refusing to abate. The tears behaved similarly, forming ever new paths down her drawn, pale cheeks. She silently cried into the cold floor, trying so hard not to think about what she had just dreamed. She failed miserably.

It had been so much worse than her old dreams. The dreams she had dreamt in the early summer, from when she had left Durmstrang in early May through to mid-June, when she had learned that she was to be going to stay with her father. At that point she had managed to pull herself together, not wanting to embarrass herself in front of the company she so craved. She longed for those dreams now, for in those dreams it had only been a few moments of shock. But this new dream was different. It was not a mere recount of that day, emotionally accurate all the way through. She was reliving it, knowing exactly what was happening, knowing exactly what was coming and completely powerless to stop it.

She dry wretched once more, her stomach heaving, the tears still spilling from her eyes. Things were beginning to fall apart. She could feel the seams of her life starting to rip and fray as they had once before. Only this time she wasn't sure she would be able to mend them.

* * *

Pansy woke early the next morning, unable to think her head was so full of thoughts, and ran straight for the shower. She was practically shaking with the excitement of her plan. It was too perfect, too easy and _so_ wonderfully cruel. See how Breseis would like her world to fall apart, she thought maliciously, see how she likes feeling the fool. Pansy thought of Draco's look of disgust as he realises what a freak Breseis really is, as he realises all her plotting, all her scheming. She gave a little shudder of pleasurable anticipation. Who would possibly be there to comfort him, to look after him? Pansy smiled at the thought of getting _her_ Draco back, at her return to favour.

She was sitting on a green velour sofa in the Common Room and staring in the direction of the dormitories by the time people began to surface. Sleepy eyed and yawning they made their way through the trap door and towards breakfast in the Great Hall. Pansy could barely sit still and sat on her hands to keep them from uncontrollably fidgeting.

Breseis appeared from the dorm corridor, as Pansy had expected, along side some of the early birds. She looked like she hadn't slept, and her complexion had a greenish hue. Pansy smirked at her.

"Not looking your best this morning, _Mademoiselle_," Pansy said acidly as she walked past. Her lips puckered with distaste as Breseis walked by without so much as looking is Pansy's direction.

Breseis left the common room alone and Pansy felt a sense of satisfaction seeing her that way. Surely it was foreshadowing the way things would soon be. She was so busy being satisfied that she almost missed who she was waiting for.

"Blaise," she called.

He turned around to look at her. "What?" he asked rather rudely.

"Come here," she hissed, gesturing for him to follow her to the other, emptier side of the common room.

"What is it?" he asked with a loud yawn.

"You like ruining people, don't you?" she asked, a wicked grin now covering her face.

"Excuse me?"

"Remember Nancy Branson?" she asked.

Nancy Branson had been a silly girl. A little Ravenclaw in the year below, she had openly passed comment on the fact that Blaise's mother was several times widowed, and remarked that perhaps this was not merely coincidence but rather a fate of her own making. Her reasoning being the inheritance each husband left behind. Blaise had, of course, sworn revenge. However, ever the creative one, he decided a direct attack would be inappropriate: she had not launched a direct attack on him. Instead his form of revenge was a slower, more lasting assault. He had courted Miss Branson in secret. He had sent her little love notes, small gift of expensive perfume or pretty beads. He had met with her, unbeknownst to her friends, on Hogsmeade weekends. He earned her trust one-hundred-percent. And then he took her for their first public date to Slughorn's Christmas Party. It was after the party that Pansy had launched a smear campaign on Blaise's behalf, telling anyone who would listen that Nancy Branson's chastity was very much questionable. As far as anyone else knew, it had been the couple's first date. Blaise proceeded to break up with her, very publicly, telling her "I don't date cheap little sluts." Indeed the phrase had stuck. Poor little Nancy Branson still heard the whisper of it every time she walked down a corridor. She was a ruined woman.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I see what you mean. I did rather enjoy that."

"Exactly," Pansy smiled.

"But she was a silly little bitch who needed dealing with," he continued, "She deserved what she got. I don't like to waste my time ruining just anyone, you know."

"Well, I have a bitch who needs dealing with, and she definitely deserves what's coming to her" Pansy said, "And given my role in your little game last year, I thought that maybe you could play a small part in mine."

Blaise looked intrigued. "What sort of game?" he asked.

"What would you say if I told you I had dirt on our newest little friend, Breseis?" she whispered, her mouth pressed up against his ear, "Dirt that, used correctly, would finish her at this school."

"No," he replied, making to turn away, "Not interested."

"Blaise!" she whispered harshly, gripping his arm to keep him at her side "It's really, _really _good!"

"Pansy, believe it or not, I already know a thing or two about Miss Lestrange and-"

"Blaise there is no way in hell you can know this!" she said, her eyes wide, "This plan involves blackmail. And I know that's your favourite."

"Read my lips, Pansy, I am not interested," he said with finality, removing her hand from his arm with ease.

"_Blaise_," she hissed, "Working together we could take her down. We would be an invincible combination."

"No," Blaise shook his head, before leaning into her with a leer on his face, "Because you see Pansy, what I have planned incorporates all my favourite things with all the satisfaction of doing it alone. But believe me when I say, I'll be using Miss Lestrange as a…different sort of toy."

He arched one of his eyebrows suggestively and turned to walk down to breakfast. Pansy stamped her foot in a black rage.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **One big update coming your way with some exciting (or so I like to think) confrontation between Breseis and Pansy.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

The nightmare came back. Again and again.

Breseis could barely close her eyes without being confronted with the images lying behind the thick mahogany door. Each time, without fail, her stomach heaved and she would rush to the nearest bathroom for another night with her head lying against the cold floor tiles. She couldn't remember what sleep, proper sleep, felt like. After a week of nightmares the dark circles under her eyes were almost as dark as Rabastan's. The Lestrange in her genes was becoming more and more apparent in her appearance. Lack of sleep did not, as such, suit her.

One morning Pansy awoke to a manic tapping at the window. She had to sign for a large package addressed to Breseis. Without a seconds thought she ripped into the large parcel and was confronted with a diverse range of bottles and vials, the labels of which were all in French. Breseis had ordered as many expensive beauty treatments as she could think of to try and combat her new, more haggard appearance. Pansy managed to translate most of the labels and was disappointed when she discovered they said things like "hair sleeking potion," and "eye balm" instead of "poison to kill girls named Pansy Parkinson." She may, however, have been interested in the smallest vials, the ones with the labels so tiny she couldn't read them. The translation was "liquid valium."

Sleep deprived and vanity hurt, Breseis found everything two or three shades more difficult. Eating was hard; her stomach felt far too fragile for the heavy Hogwarts food and she found the prospect of the endless nights of nausea far more appealing if there was only a little in her stomach to be subsequently emptied. Lessons were similarly painstaking. Her eyes glazed over in a waking sleep most of the time, and her spells were neither powerful or swift. Dark Arts was a daily struggle as she was confronted with the memories of a fully-formed Paris stepping out of the dark cupboard.

Potions, however, was strangely the only lesson she looked at all forward to. Everyday she walked in and sat with Draco and Blaise and set alight the flames beneath her cauldron and gathered her ingredients together. And then, everyday, Professor Slughorn came to her desk and told her stories about her mother while he cut and sliced and stirred her ingredients into potions. She need only sit and listen to the gentle lull of his voice and his chuckles of how funnily similar she was to 'beautiful Marie.'

"She couldn't mix a potion either, my dear."

It was a strange comfort in a world turned upside-down.

Another odd comfort she had came with her duties as a Death Eater. In the late evening she and Draco would steal away to the Headmaster's office and disappear amidst the dancing flames of his hearth. This had many benefits. Most importantly, it kept her awake late, and the nightmares couldn't break through to torment her. But there were smaller perks as well. She was with Draco, and he made her feel calm. His presence was the balm to the particularly irritable temper she was developing. His gaze on her gave her heart little flutters. It was easy to be optimistic with Draco about. She knew she was pleasing her father, as well. Being a Lestrange was a fundamental part of her existence now, and she was desperate to do it right.

Seeing the fear in the Muggle Prime Minister's eyes every time she stepped out of his fireplace was just a bonus.

"Hello, Prime Minister," she would greet him, her eyes flicking over to a murky portrait in a dark corner of his office, depicting a little man bound in chains with a thick scarf in his mouth. She would quirk an eyebrow and strut behind the Prime Minister's desk, taking a seat in _his_ plush chair. "How are you this evening?"

Some things were immune to nightmares - and apparently sadism was one of them.

* * *

"Ex-excuse me?" the trembling voice of a first year caused Breseis to turn around from her measly salad.

It was the end of September. For four weeks Breseis had been unable to properly sleep. For four weeks Breseis had been unable to properly eat, think, move. She sat at dinner, moving limp pieces of lettuce around her plate and trying to count the prominent bones in her hands. Draco and Pansy sat across from her. Pansy had one arm clenched on Draco's shoulder, marking her territory, as she spoke to him about her plans for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. She had some fantastic idea about going for tea in some sickly sounding café called Madam Puddifoots, or something equally ridiculous. Draco was half asleep and clearly not listening to a word she was saying; he hadn't been taking to the late nights quite as well as Breseis. Meanwhile, Breseis was trying to hide a smug smile at the fact that Draco had to spend the day with her! The first year was interrupting her mirth.

"What?" she asked him rather rudely.

"Professor Slughorn told me to give this to you," the child handed her a scroll of parchment, his voice barely more than a whisper. Breseis took the scroll gingerly and began to open it.

"You can go," she snapped without looking up, and the first year scurried off.

_**Dearest Mademoiselle Désirée,**_

the letter began, and Breseis felt a fresh stab of irritation.

_**I'm having a small get together tonight in my office. Perhaps you would like to join me. I have some wonderful photos of your mother that I know you will enjoy seeing. I would be delighted to see you around eight 'o clock if you can make it.**_

_**Professor Slughorn.**_

Breseis rolled up the scroll and slipped it into her pocket, very glad of the invitation. The Prime Minister was away on a state visit to the U.S. and she hadn't exactly been looking forward to the prospect of an early night. She was sure she could keep Slughorn's gathering going until at least midnight. The night had taken a pleasant turn.

She looked up to see Blaise rolling up a scroll of parchment, similar to the one in her pocket. He smiled at her and she returned the gesture uneasily. She could still hear Pansy chattering away and Blaise rolled his eyes. She couldn't help feel a sadistic little twinge to ruin Pansy's evening.

"Oh, Draco," she said, acting on impulse.

"Hmm?" he looked up sleepily and Breseis saw Pansy's fingers dig deeper into his shoulder.

"I wrote to my father today agreeing that we would meet him in Hogsmeade. I hope you're not forgetting," she smiled at him and he nodded, "See you later Pansy."

Pansy's face was aghast as Breseis stood up to leave the table and she thought she saw a satisfied smile playing the lips of her rival. She turned to Draco and saw his shrugged apology, wanting to shout in protest but knowing it would do no good. Instead she smiled dotingly and turned back to watch Breseis's skinny form flouncing out of the Great Hall, Blaise at her side. Tonight, she thought maliciously, is the time to act.

Across the hall Blaise waved his scroll at Breseis.

"So you got one as well?" he asked, rolling his eyes once more.

"Yes," she sighed her reply, "Addressed to '_Mademoiselle Désirée_.'"

"That must get annoying," Blaise said sympathetically. She eyed him sideways, checking his sincerity. "So, shall I walk you to this, what did he call it, '_get together'_?"

"Sure," she replied, again checking his sincerity, "Why not?"

She walked ahead and Blaise watched the lullaby of her hips as she moved, her skirt billowing loosely at her sides. His mouth moved into a wicked smile, dangerously verging on a leer.

* * *

Pansy was enraged as she stalked down the stairs from the Great Hall to the Slytherin dormitories. Breseis was playing a dirty game and Pansy felt quite the amateur. Well, she told herself, not for long. She barked the password at the trap door and climbed through rather violently, swearing as she bumped her elbow. Breseis was no better off than Pansy. She wasn't prettier or better educated. All she really had was mystery, and Pansy was about to pull that out from under the stupid bitch's feet.

She threw open the dormitory door, expecting to see the overly pallid and tired looking Breseis of late. Instead she saw a strangely fresh-faced Breseis, wearing only slightly-too-thick make-up and a simple but elegant, tight fitting green dress. Pansy gritted her teeth. Mystery and style, she conceded reluctantly, flouncing her hair over her shoulder and silently praying that Draco didn't set eyes on Breseis this evening.

"You look nice tonight," Pansy said in what she liked to think was a light tone.

"No need to sound surprised," Breseis replied tartly, pointing her wand at her head and performed a couple of complicated movements which made her curls sit in a slightly more pert fashion. She moved her eyes critically over her reflection in the looking glass before catching sight of Pansy observing her, "Can I help you with something?"

"Well, I've been meaning to ask…" Pansy began, "No, I had better not."

"If you have something to say, Pansy, just spit it out," Breseis said vulgarly, "If not, then I have someplace to be."

"Well," Pansy started carefully, sneakily, this time, "I was wondering why it was you were scared of that Paris boy, you know, the boy that your Boggart turned into. I thought maybe it had something to do with Draco…or that Anya girl perha-"

In two swift strides Breseis caught hold of Pansy and shoved her hard up against the wall. The dormitory door thudded shut with the force of Pansy's weight. Breseis's face turned monstrous, mere inches away from Pansy's, and she let out a snarling sound.

"Where-the-_hell_," she spat, "did you hear those names?"

Pansy's mouth became a small steady line of stone, unmoving.

"Tell me!" Breseis's voice was no louder than a whisper, but the growl in it burned away her familiar cadence and leaving only a hoarse, fear-inducing sound. "Tell me right now!"

Pansy let out a small, terrified whimper as Breseis pressed her wand to Pansy's quivering neck.

"I saw them in a photo!" she gasped and Breseis flinched.

She remembered leaving the photo out on her bed, or at least finding it when she was going to sleep, the first night of her nightmare. She had been sure no one had seen it and could barely believe her stupidity. She eased her grip on Pansy slightly, drawing her wand away from the shaking girl's skin.

"You will never- and I mean never- speak either of those name again, do you understand?" she spoke in a steady tone, never breaking eye contact. Pansy nodded her head jerkily. "And you will, likewise, never look through my private things again. I will not tolerate disrespect."

Breseis let go of Pansy completely and smoothed down the front of her dress. She turned to leave in a gust of contrite curls and expensive perfume. Pansy couldn't help but blurt out her thoughts, tempting fate.

"He's your boyfriend, isn't he?" she spoke quickly, "And you're keeping him a secret from Draco."

Breseis turned very slowly, her expression shocked. She had to admire Pansy's daring as she looked at the girl incredulously.

"Draco knows about Paris," Breseis told her steadily after a moments pause, "he also knows that I find the subject difficult to speak about. I don't know that he would appreciate your bringing it up to be honest, Pansy."

Pansy acknowledged the threat hidden beneath the mask of words. Breseis turned once more to leave.

"So that's a yes," Pansy decided to push her luck, "He is your boyfriend."

Breseis turned once more to face her and when she spoke, her words were strangely flat.

"He was," her eyes measured Pansy's reaction, "Paris is dead."

Pansy's mouth formed a small 'O' of shock.

"Now I would suggest," Breseis said conversationally, "That, as I asked you before, you never bring up this subject again. I could make life very difficult for you Pansy, and I don't want to have to do that. It would be very tiresome."

The two girls locked eyes for a brief moment and Breseis smiled acidly.

"I'm late for meeting Blaise," she said in her normal, light tone, "We've been invited to supper with Professor Slughorn."

She turned for a final time and left the room, her footfalls soft on the carpeted hallway floor. Pansy lifted a hand to her aching neck and felt the small indentation Breseis's wand had made in her skin. She would keep her promise, she was too much of a coward not to. She didn't fully understand where all her bravery had come from, although she suspected it had something to do with adrenaline. Yet, at the same time, she was dying to know more about the boy named Paris, and the girl named Anya- Breseis hadn't liked Pansy knowing her name anymore than Paris's. There was something more to that photograph than what Breseis was letting on. But Pansy didn't dare spy anymore. She had seen Breseis's whispered Cruciatus Curse, and she thought she understood the meaning of a difficult life.

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**A/N:** As usual, reviews are received with love.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Here's a nice big update for you all. Enjoy x

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**Chapter Sixteen**

The fire crackled tamely in the common room, warming Breseis's bare toes nicely. She supposed that silk negligees weren't entirely practical for October in Britain, but when she had packed for moving in with her father, she had only the summer in mind. The silk dressing gown was no help either. She might as well have been curled up in front of the fire with no clothes on at all for all the good they were doing her.

Her eyelids were drooping treacherously and she had to force them to stay open. She refused to sleep tonight. She absolutely could not deal with another night of torture. It had been over a month since her first of her nightmares, and they still plagued her. She wasn't getting quite so sick anymore, mainly because she wasn't really eating very much, but she got so shaky and sweaty that she may as well have been heaving over the porcelain toilet bowl for all the difference it made.

Tonight, she decided, was going to be different. She had removed herself from her dormitory and her large, squashy four poster bed and settled herself on a leather sofa in front of the fire. It hadn't been difficult. Her bed was no longer inviting, she no longer longed to snuggle beneath the thick quilt and give herself over to sleep. Sleep was the enemy. Sleep was making her ill and thin- well, thinner than usual- and angry and she did not want to be any of those things. Thin, angry, ill: they all meant the same thing to Breseis. Weakness. She would not let herself become weak. If she became weak, then she would be useless. People were the power, the magic. If she lost herself, and simultaneously her power, she had nothing but a bad temper and a once desirable head of hair that was slowly losing it's distinctive glossiness.

She groaned and let her head loll back and hit the wooden frame of the sofa, hoping that the pain it made would force her to be more alert. However, it only made her body long more for the folds of unconsciousness. She forced herself to breathe deeply and focus. Now was not a good time to get angry. She could barely hold onto the edges of her control as it was. Her temper had been unpredictable since her confrontation with Pansy. The smallest, most insignificant things could send her into a blind rage. It terrified her. Focused breathing was the key. In and out. In and out.

"Breseis?" a muffled voice behind her made her sharply turn, but her face instantly relaxed.

"Draco!" she smiled at him, her eyelids resisting all her efforts to stay awake.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked, taking in her new manic expression warily before smiling in understanding, "You look about ready to pass out."

She laughed nervously, a note of hysteria playing through the sound.

"I…couldn't really get to sleep in the dorm," she said, wiping her eyes in an effort to rid her face of her insane expression.

"Me neither," Draco confessed, dropping down on the sofa beside her, his red, flannel dressing gown falling open and revealing his bare chest and the casually defined muscles of his torso.

Breseis's face fell. She could feel her control, the sort of control unrelated to her temper, fraying where she grabbed it and took another deep soothing breath.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, taking in every inch of her carefully. "You don't look right Breseis."

"Don't I?" she asked, rubbing her face again and hoping she didn't still look clinically insane.

"Yeah," he said, "Lately you've been sort of…I don't know, reserved and, I'm not trying to be rude, but you've looked kind of ill. Is everything okay? We haven't really talked properly in a while."

Both their minds slid back to the last time they had properly spoken to each other, sitting in the corner of this very common room, not two months previously. The day the nightmares had started. Breseis once again felt a yearning for the summer weeks she had spent with Draco at Malfoy Manor. The days before she had given him up, begged him to try to make things work with his obnoxious, not to mention overly nosy, girlfriend. It almost made her feel empty, the longing, and her eyes prickled slightly. She struggled to pull her mind back to the present.

"Things are fine," she lied with a weak smile.

Draco's eyes widened at her words, and his expression became one of alarm at her attempt at a smile. Her lips hardly even curved up, barely the ghost of the dazzling secret smiles they used to share.

"God, things are worse than I thought!" he exclaimed. She looked up at him in confusion.

"Breseis, you can't lie properly, you can barely even throw me one of those gorgeous smiles that are your specialty, something is seriously wrong at the moment," he leaned into her, searching her face for a few moments and then locking his eyes with hers. "I know you much better than you like to think."

She smiled a little at that, a proper smile. And she felt strangely happy that he had seen straight through her, though she was sure if it was anyone else she would have lost hold of her self control. It was nice to have someone who knew her well enough that they were able to tell when something was wrong. Especially when that someone was Draco. Neither one of them let their eyes break away from the other and Breseis felt a sense of calm wash over her that she hadn't felt for weeks on end. Unbeknownst to her, Draco was feeling exactly the same way.

She felt something else, an urge coming on. An urge that she could only remember having once before in her entire life. An urge to tell the truth. Not the whole truth. Not this time. She could _never_ tell Draco that. But a small part of the truth, she needed to tell him that. What's more, she wanted to tell him that.

"I've not been sleeping well for a while," she said, breaking her eyes away and staring into the fire, "I've been having…nightmares." She felt the word didn't quite cover the terror that swept through her unconscious self.

"Nightmares?" he asked, his face full of concern. She nodded weakly, fighting once more against the urge to let her eyelids drop shut. "What about?"

"I can't tell you," she sighed, her voice pained.

"Why not?"

"Because," she started to wrack her mind for a lie, but as she searched the truth hit her, "I can't. When I think about them too much, I get sick."

"Sick?" His eyebrows shot further up his forehead in muddled shock and concern, "Your nightmares make you physically sick?"

"Yes," she replied, noticing that her hands and her voice were shaking.

"Come here," he said, pulling her into him.

He was warm, and his subtly muscled arms wrapped around her fragile frame made her feel utterly safe and content. She leant her head against his bare skin and felt a weight lift off her chest. This was it for her, this was heaven. In his arms, everything suddenly felt right. She could handle this level of closeness to him when he was looking after her, when she was vulnerable. Right now Pansy and feeling guilty were the farthest things from her mind.

Draco gently rubbed her arms in a futile effort to warm her up.

"I'm scared, Draco, I'm scared of going to sleep," she whispered into his chest, and he tightened his arms around her.

"I'm here and I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he told her, pressing his lips into her dark curls, "I promise."

The sound of his voice, his words, were reassuring, and even though she was still terrified, she let her eyelids fall closed and sleep wash over her body.

Once he was sure she was sound asleep, Draco gently lifted Breseis up and carried her to his dormitory. Quietly, so as not to wake the others, he deposited her under the duvet and pulled the curtains shut around the bed. Very carefully he climbed in the bed beside her, and pulled her into him, protecting her from the outside world at least, though he could do nothing deliberate to ward off the nightmares. He felt compelled to protect her. He had never seen her this vulnerable and he hated it. He gently stroked her cheeks and her eyelids, he pressed his lips to the top of her head and whispered promises to her. His heart burned with warmth as she snuggled closer to him. With Breseis in his arms, he, too, soon fell into the inviting arms of sleep.

This was it. This was heaven.

**

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**

When Breseis opened her eyes the following morning, her first thought was to snuggle into the bare chest her head was lying on. But as awareness cleared the fog from her brain she suddenly stiffened with panic. This was a new sort of nightmare. One that was forcing her to remember her time with Paris, who she worked so hard to forget. One forcing her to remember waking up on weekend mornings, her cheek pressed against the hard muscle of his well defined chest, her arm wrapped around his waist and his hands holding her securely in place. This nightmare was unbearable, because she knew the end of her story, she knew that their relationship was doomed, that this scene would never be replayed in reality again. Her brain could not be such a glutton for punishment to put her through this. It could not live out the memories she worked so hard to hide in the deepest crevices of her mind. Her stomach would simply not be able to bare it, never mind her sanity.

It took a few moments for her eyes to really register the differences between this chest of her nightmare and the chest that had once belonged in her dreams. This chest was pale; Paris, being Greek, had been olive-skinned. The muscles of the chest she currently lay on were much less prominent than the clearly defined muscles which Paris worked so hard to maintain, and Breseis had to admit, these more subtle muscles were far more to her liking than the uneven pillow that had been Paris's torso. The panic eased momentarily. This was not Paris, this was not even a nightmare. It was Draco.

She sighed as she remembered the night before: his comforting hold, his reassuring promises, her dreamless sleep in his arms. She figured that she must have passed out in his arms and he must have brought her here, rather than leaving her on the uncomfortable leather sofa in the common room. It was nice lying here in his arms, and she felt a surge of jealousy towards Pansy, who was free to do this any time she liked.

Pansy.

A fresh wave of panic caused a lurch in Breseis's empty stomach. She sat up abruptly, ready to swing her legs from the bed and make a run for it, until she, mercifully, remembered that Draco did not have a dorm to himself. He shared with four other boys who would be a little shocked to see a girl who was not Draco's girlfriend rushing from his bed. She crept forward a bit on the bed, reaching carefully towards the break in the curtains. Opening it very slightly, she cast her eyes quickly around the rest of the room, which was like a pigsty, but an empty one.

She exhaled in relief. Right, she thought, get out of here. Once again she made to swing her legs from the bed, but something else stopped her this time. An odd compulsion. Instead of running from the room, she began to turn back to where Draco slept, thinking to perhaps kiss his cheek as a secret thank you for protecting her from her monstrous dreams. Her heart almost stopped as she turned to see him not lying fast asleep but sitting up with his arms folded across his chest staring at her in mild amusement.

"Jesus, Draco," she gasped, clutching her hand to her heart, "You gave me such a fright!"

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked with a low laugh, ignoring her, and looking over to the curtains once more.

"I was checking that I wasn't going to give anyone a bit of a shock by appearing from your bed," she said, as if it were obvious, "You're not the only one who sleeps in here, you know?"

He laughed at her, quite loudly. It was a shock to hear, and it was only then that Breseis realised she had been speaking in whispers.

"Breseis," he said, "They left ages ago."

"They did?"

"It's about midday. And today is a Hogsmeade visit. I wouldn't be surprised if they left hours ago!" he laughed again, but Breseis's face was like stone.

"Midday?" she asked him and he nodded, "Midday!"

Draco looked slightly alarmed now as Breseis pressed her eyes shut and pushed her fingers into her temples.

"You do realise that we're meeting my father in about ten minutes?" she said. She opened her eyes slowly but never took her fingers away from massaging her head. Control was of the essence.

Draco's jaw dropped as her remembered. He caught her gaze and widened his eyes, unable to say the words he was trying to communicate.

"Yes," she answered his unspoken question, "to get our new orders."

A feeling of unmistakable dread encompassed the pair. There was absolutely no telling who would be with Rabastan in Hogsmeade. They could, however, guess how Rabastan would feel about a late appearance. Unbearable pleasure was replaced with dread.

Heaven had suddenly become very cold.

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As usual, reviews are received with love!


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** I apologise in advance for the naughty word in this chapter. You have been forewarned!…

Dandylion05x

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**Chapter Seventeen**

The soles of Breseis's bare feet burned against the old emerald carpet as she ran along the corridor as fast as her predominantly bare legs would carry her. The sleeves of her silk dressing gown were sliding gently up her arms and revealing a strange, tattoo-like marking on her left forearm. The Dark Mark burned blackest black against her pale skin, and she was lucky the corridor was empty as she risked the exposure of her carefully concealed secret.

She flung open the door to her dormitory and leapt inside, slamming it shut behind her. Only then did she stop to take a deep breath and drag her hands through her hair. Her dark curls were matted and frizzy and she grimaced at the texture. She didn't have enough time to wash her hair, technically she didn't have enough time to do anything, but she couldn't go out looking like this. She had been brought up by the wizarding world's answer to Claudia Schiffer and her mother's philosophy that appearances meant everything was ingrained too far in her skin to be shaken off, even at this most desperate hour.

She walked quickly over to the mahogany wardrobe and started savagely raking through the available garments. She pulled out a black satin slip dress and a jewel-bright jade cardigan- a reminder to her father that she was following in his footsteps, an attempt to soften him. Trying to dress too quickly was not a good idea, she discovered. She tripped a couple of times while trying to pull on stockings, sustaining a fairly large rip to a silk underskirt and a few knocks that she guessed would produce quite large bruises. Feeling severely irritated, not to mention sore, she finally managed to thrust her feet into some black ballet pumps and sit down in front of the mirror.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed at the beehive that currently was her hair.

She reached out for the hair sleeking potion and tipped around half the bottle straight into her matted, Bellatrix hair. She hurriedly massaged it in until her curls sat smoother, if not flatter. They still lacked some of the contrite stiffness she preferred, but in her haste she supposed they would do. She then looked at her face and let out a gasp of horror at her skin. As quickly as was humanly possible she applied a thick layer of pale make-up to her face, focusing particularly on the circles underneath her eyes.

As she finally reached to grab her cloak she noticed the Tawny own waiting patiently on the windowsill. She took the roll of parchment attached to its leg and began to read. As her eyes slid down the page, they began to narrow. Narrow into angry little slits.

* * *

Draco leant against the back of a sofa in the common room, plagued by insecurities. He had thrown on some vague clothes and washed his face quickly and placidly, reliving the glorious memories of the last twelve hours in his mind. Memories of lying in a bed with Breseis, her cheek pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around her, her curls tickling his chin. It had been nice, more than nice. Perfection. These memories made their way to the front of his mind. He could experience how wonderful it was to protect the strangely vulnerable Breseis from the horrors of her mysterious nightmares with perfect clarity.

But perfect clarity reminded him of the bad things about Breseis, as well. The secrecy, for instance. He was aware of something lurking in her mysterious past, and her reluctance to expose even the most minute details of it. And then there was the fact that she wouldn't let him leave Pansy to be with her, Breseis, who he really wanted. Sometimes he wondered if it was because she didn't want him the way he wanted her. But then he would remember the look of pain on her face all those months ago, as she told him they couldn't keep behaving the way they were. The way they had behaved back in the summer when things were less complicated. Back when they had definitely been more than just friends. When he remembered her face like that, although the memory bruised his mind, he was suddenly sure that she must feel the same way. She was a good liar, or at least she had once been a good liar, but no one could fake that expression. Besides, she had no reason to, did she?

Perhaps the worst thing, he thought, his brow wrinkled with worry, was the fact that she was making all the same mistakes he had made, and he was letting her. On a near nightly basis for weeks he had gone with her on her Death Eater missions. He had watched her taunt and scare the muggle Prime Minister into such a state that he would do nothing but obey Breseis. And he had watched her do it with flippancy, never with so much as a hint of regret. Again and again, time after endless time, he let her slip further into a world that she should never have been part of.

This morning, while Breseis had been peeping through the bed curtains, unaware that she was being watched, the sleeves of her dressing gown slid up her arms and her ugly branding had been revealed. And even before he could grimace at how hideous it was against her perfect flesh, he had felt a stab in the gut at the reminder that he had a Dark Mark too, that he was part of the evil that deformed Breseis's lovely skin.

He felt sick.

"Are you coming or not?" Breseis snapped, her words breaking his torturous chain of thought. By the time he had turned around, which was actually quite quickly due to the fright she had just given him, she was already stalking towards the door.

Draco hurried up and followed her as she marched through the castle at far too quick a pace, a stony expression on her face. Even two steps behind her, Draco could feel anger emitting from her every pore and he hoped to God that she didn't turn on him. He really did not want to be on the receiving end of her temper, he had a suspicious feeling that it might be just as violent as her mood swings.

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Rodolphos and Rabastan Lestrange sat in the corner of the Three Broomsticks pub in Hogsmeade. Two pints of ale sat on the table in front of them and they spoke in hushed voices so as not to attract too much attention. Of course, this is a fairly difficult task when the entirety of the rest of the pub is aware that two convicted Death Eaters are sitting in their midst. It is also difficult to remain inconspicuous when wearing Death Eater robes, but the Lestranges were never known for their subtlety. Rabastan looked with irritation at his wrist watch, flashing the general public a glimpse of his Dark Mark.

"What the _fuck _did she do?" the piercing whisper of his only daughter met his ears.

The brothers looked up in surprise at both her sudden appearance and her out-of-the-ordinary use of such explicate language. Neither paid any particular attention to Draco hovering behind her looking and feeling extremely apprehensive.

"Excuse me? What did you-" Rabastan began, but was hastily cut off.

"What the hell was she doing in France!" Breseis growled, and the surrounding tables suddenly went silent. She could feel the curious stares of people burning against her back.

"Sit down," Rabastan said, looking around at the staring punters who hastily moved their gaze to anything else in the room.

"Listen to me," she started, her icy blue eyes ablaze, "She better have had a fuc-"

Rabastan grabbed her wrist and tugged her into a chair, his grip leaving harsh indentations of his bony, calloused fingers. "I said sit-down."

Breseis pursed her lips and locked eyes with her father, not used to this kind of treatment.

"Do not speak to me like that," he told her through his teeth, his word satiated with fury, "I will not tolerate it."

Breseis felt a slight breeze as Draco sat down beside her but didn't turn. Her eyes remained on her father, her expression ungainly, anger dancing in the depths of her eyes.

"Now," Rabastan said, "What on earth is the matter?"

"I received a very interesting letter this morning," she told him, rubbing her wrist as she spoke, "From my stepfather."

Her father didn't seem to comprehend the significance. She flicked her eyes to her uncle and registered his uneasy expression.

"Apparently my mother and he have moved in with Grandmére, in Paris" she continued, "while the extensive repairs are made to their home and my mother recovers."

"From what?" Rabastan asked sharply, watching the way his daughter's eyes, so like her mother's, flicked to his brother, "From what?"

"From his psychotic wife!" she cried, violently gesturing Rodolphos.

"What?" It was Rabastan's turn to be angry.

"Bellatrix supposedly barged into their home, completely unannounced, and started tearing the place to pieces!" Breseis's shouts were hurriedly shushed, "She completely destroyed the place. She knows mother can't leave the house! She knows about her health problems, and yet Bellatrix sees it fit to terrorise her is her own home. She's in Paris now, that's hardly going to do anything for her nerves. All that noise and chaos!"

"Breseis, believe me when I tell you, I knew nothing of this," Rabastan turned to glower at his elder brother.

"What did she want?" Breseis turned with her father and addressed Rodolphos, "Just a bit of fun before dinner, was it?"

"She had a perfectly good reason," Rodolphos said evenly, fingering one of the heavy scars on his face as he spoke.

"Well?" Breseis's voice was laced with manic hysteria.

"Your mother still has things in her possession which are rightfully Bella's," Breseis's eyebrows shot far up her forehead.

"What-on-_earth­_," her volume rose again, "could my mother possibly have belonging to Bellatrix?"

"Quite a lot, actually," Rodolphos told her, and she raised an eyebrow sceptically, "She never returned the Lestrange jewels, the jewels worn by the wives and daughters."

Breseis laughed, a wiry laugh verging on a cackle. She grabbed Draco's arm, acknowledging his presence for the first time. "Did you hear that?" she managed to ask through her hysteria, "wives and daughters."

"What could possibly be funny?" Rodolphos barked, regarding her with distaste as she shook with mirth, "It's as good as stealing."

"Wives and daughters," Breseis said, sobering up, "Rodolphos, why would my mother have kept the Lestrange jewellery? Can you think of a reason? Because I sure as hell can't. My mother _hated_ being a Lestrange, she detested it. The stigma she got when father went to prison made her half insane. She sent all of your poxy jewellery back to your mother and it was all subsequently sent to _me_, or are you trying to say I'm not a Lestrange daughter?"

Comprehension dawned on Rodolphos's face. Breseis noted Rabastan's flinch at the way she spoke of his marriage and her mother's feelings towards it. She lifted her hand and thumbed a thin gold band inlaid with onyx, the official Lestrange gemstone, wrapped around her right ring finger. From there, the brothers' eyes moved to the onyx pendant she wore around her neck, and the small onyx earrings glistening through her curls.

"Now," she spat, fury returned with all its might, "You better tell your _wife_ that if she so much as steps foot on the same continent as my mother, she will live to regret it. I can promise her that."

There was a stony silence.

"It's my round I believe," Rodolphos spoke tonelessly, "Butter beer?"

Draco nodded, the anxiety finally vacating his tense body.

"I'll have a double Fire Whiskey, thank you very much," Breseis said, each seemingly polite word coated in hard malice.

"Come and help me Draco," Rodolphos commanded, shaking his head and muttering, "She's not going to like this."

Once the others were at the bar, Rabastan leaned into his daughter and resumed his previous death grip on her arm. His face was mere inches from hers and she could smell the stale ale and smoke on his breath. Once more, he locked eyes with her, and spoke to her in a whisper much more threatening than any shout or shriek.

"You will never, _ever_, speak to any Death Eater like that again, Breseis, do you hear me?" his fingers clenched a little tighter, "Rodolphos and I are Death Eaters first and your family second and you will respect us as such. Life will be very difficult for you without us on side. This isn't the playground, Breseis, this isn't a game."

"I know that," she tried not to cower under his terrifying gaze.

"Well start showing it," he spat, and then let her go.

She sat back in her chair, shaking slightly, and cast her eyes around the pub for the first time. It was packed with school students who had long since lost interest in the Lestrange domestic. All except one boy, one round-faced boy. Neville Longbottom still watched the table, his eyes moving steadily from Rabastan to Breseis, to Rodolphos on his return. The expression in his eyes was unreadable, dead.

Breseis tipped her Fire Whiskey into her throat and felt it burn it's way through her body, finishing it in one gulp. She was realising that this alien emotion she was experiencing was fear. Real fear.

* * *

That night the nightmare came back.

It came back many times.

If it was possible, it was sharper than ever before. Breseis found herself on the stone staircase once again, struggling to stop her feet from climbing up to the dormitory, unable to shut her eyes to what she saw when she got there. Every sound was amplified, every movement exaggerated and consequently, Breseis once more found herself running to the bathroom when she finally awoke.

She supposed it was worse because of two things. Firstly, the fear that her father wouldn't stand by her. She had always been sure of that, ever since she had first met him two years ago, upon his first escape from Azkaban. She had always been utterly convinced that Rabastan Lestrange loved her and would protect her from anything. Now she was doubting it. She was starting to see that, for him, there was nothing higher than his devotion to the Dark Lord. Secondly, she felt guilt. She had spent a whole night snuggled up to another girl's boyfriend, the boy another girl loved. She was horrible, she thought, horrible and nasty and cruel. The guilt ate away at her all day, and she was even aware of it in her unconsciousness. It was there every night as she was forced up the winding stone stairs.

She suffered another five days of nightmares before she dragged herself back to the common room to wait out the night awake in front of the fire. She physically could not bare to go through another night in her nightmare world. Her insides ached, her complexion had deteriorated, she had dark purple circles under her eyes. Her entire face looked sunken, and her skin pinched around all too prominent cheek bones. Her clothes were too loose and she didn't have the energy to take them in. She didn't even look forward to distractions anymore, such as Slughorn's dinners. The meetings usually went on late into the evening, saving Breseis from the evils of sleep for a longer time and she embraced them, usually. That week she didn't listen to Slughorn's boasting, or stories about her mother, the famous model, and her rebellious escapades of old. She had also, over recent weeks, become a regular fixture at the Slytherin Quidditch practices, although she had less than no interest in the sport. Again, it kept her from being too near a bed. She couldn't bring herself to go down to the stadium to watch practice that Tuesday, and instead opted to curl up in an arm chair in the corner of the common room and pretend to read a Charms book.

She walked into the common room on Wednesday night, yawning reluctantly, her eyes focused of the sofa closest to the fire. She was surprised to see that it was already occupied. She recognised the unmistakable blonde head illuminated by the bright orange flames.

"Draco?"

He turned around and smiled sadly at her. He looked almost as tired as she did. Almost.

"Are your nightmares back?" he asked her.

She nodded, trying to hold herself together. Being in his presence in her emotionally unstable state was bound to make her tearful.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, her voice a little shaky.

"Waiting to see if you turned up," he told her, standing up now, "I've been here every night. There was no way I was going to let you stay out here all alone if your nightmares came back."

A single tear escaped and rolled down Breseis's sallow cheek at his words.

"Come here," Draco beckoned her.

She walked over into his outstretched arms and wrapped herself around him. Her spindly arms wound around his neck, her face pressed into his hard shoulder. He lifted her up delicately, cradling her gently in his arms. She looked so thin these days he was scared that if he wasn't incredibly careful she might snap and crumble before his eyes. She pressed her face further into his shoulder, taking in his luscious smell. It made her feel a touch better instantly. He carried her quietly back to his dormitory and once again laid her on his bed. She slept there in his arms.

Her nightmare came again that night, but the shocking clarity was gone. And it was almost bearable, because when she woke up, Draco was there. He wiped the tears from under her eyes with his soft fingers and cradled her in his arms until she slipped back off into a dreamless sleep. Her nightmares registered his presence. They registered the fact that she was protected.

The following night, and the night after that, and several nights after _that_, when Breseis walked into the common room she assumed would be empty, Draco was sitting there waiting for her. He would pick her up, sometimes without a word, and take her to his bed and look after her. Already the sound in her dreams was becoming muffled. She could barely hear the laughing, the gasping, anything. And when she woke up, he was always there, though he wasn't always awake. She could bury her face into his chest and feel safe. The nightmare only ever came once a night now, as opposed to several times.

Eventually Breseis began to just slip into his dormitory herself, without bothering with the common room charade. Her vision in her nightmares was becoming fuzzy and her feet were gaining more control. Sometimes she would only stand at the top of the stairs, seeing through the small space where the door was open ajar. That was more bearable. She could live with that after the weeks of horror.

She and Draco never spoke about their silent night time agreement. It suited them both. Without acknowledging it, they couldn't acknowledge that they were doing anything wrong. Draco was still Pansy's boyfriend, Breseis was still nothing more than his friend. They never ventured into the realms of romance. Their intimacy was far greater than that.

Gradually the quality of Breseis's nightmares faded. By December, when she found herself in the nightmare, which was no longer every night, she wasn't even aware it was a nightmare. She merely sat on the cold stone slabs listening to the tinkling laugh and playing with her snow boots or her opal ring. She was aware that she was supposed to be doing something more, seeing something more, but she had no idea what. The nightmare was lost and Breseis was finally recognisable as the girl she had once been again. Now that she was well rested and properly fed her face was no longer pinched and her complexion was once more clear. Her curls would now sit contritely where she told them to, glossy as ever and her improved concentration even meant that Slughorn didn't have to help her as much in Potions, though her concoctions were still pathetic.

Breseis was back and Draco realised just how much he had missed her.

* * *

As usual, reviews are received with love.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

It was dinner time and the Great Hall was full of bubbling students, laughing, gossiping, crying about difficult homework. The horrors of the outside world were forgotten for half an hour; the horrors of Hogwarts pushed to the backs of peoples' minds. Breseis stood on the threshold of the Hall, her eyes scanning the students. At least half were male, possibly even more. And earlier that day Audra, one of the girls who shared her dorm, had told Breseis there was "a decent selection of seventh year guys." Breseis was having difficulty seeing it.

The Ravenclaws had been bearable, there had been a few who seemed to be good looking. The problem there was that they seemed so settled; most of them were sitting with girlfriends. The Hufflepuffs had been less bearable, one quick scan was enough to eliminate almost the whole house. And Gryffindor… Well she wasn't about to mix with blood traitors and members of that ridiculous 'D.A.'- the rebel students intent on being tortured into insanity by the Carrows. Completely out of the question.

She flicked her eyes up and down the Slytherin table haphazardly, already aware that the selection here was the worst of all. In breeding amongst purebloods had definitely created some interesting looking offspring: she really would have rather taken a filthy blood traitor than Theodore Nott. Breseis had seen a copy of the Lestrange family tree and felt extremely lucky that she had ten toes and not twelve.

She let out a small groan. She had actually been fairly excited by the prospect of Slughorn's Christmas party until he had asked her who she was bringing as her date. Whenever she'd been to parties before, she'd been completely safe. She'd had Paris, her wonderful long term boyfriend. She had never once had to bother looking for someone else. She closed her eyes and lifted her fingers to her temples, trying to push Paris to the back of her mind, where he now belonged. He would just add even more stress to the situation, and she wasn't up for another round of stress induced nightmares. Calm was the key to keeping them at bay.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked as she slid into the seat opposite him.

Calm and Draco, she conceded.

She took him in. He was wearing his Quidditch robes and his hair was sitting slightly ruffled. The dark green against his pale skin was a good choice, and the flashes of silver matched his palest blonde hair. He looked, for want of a better word, hot. She wryly thought of curling up next to him later that night, his strong arms wrapped around her. She bit the side of lip to try and hide her smile. God, wouldn't it be great if she could just take Draco to the damn party? Something clicked in her brain then. Why couldn't she?

"Yes," she said, taking her fingers from her temples and beginning to fidget with her onyx ring, "No Pansy tonight?"

"Nope," Draco replied, eyeing her in mild confusion, she never usually asked about Pansy, "She's on duty."

_Ah, of course_, Breseis though, _the Inquisitorial Squad_. The Squad had been formed under the watch of Dolores Umbridge, a former teacher. Their job had been to patrol the corridors for badly behaved students a D.A. members. The Carrows had reinstated it when students had started to rebel and Pansy, part of the previous squad, had jumped at the chance. She had, however, been fairly put out by the fact Draco hadn't rejoined. He had whispered to Breseis, jokingly, in bed that night that he was already part of one oppressive organisation and that he'd be overdoing it by joining another.

"Of course," Breseis said, rolling her eyes, "Did you hear that Slughorn is throwing a Christmas party?"

"Did anyone not hear?" Draco asked, "They'd have had to be out cold for the past two days."

Breseis laughed a little, but didn't prolong the action. She knew if she waited too long she would over think what she was about to do. _Live in the moment_, she told herself.

"Do you want to go with me?" she blurted out, before laughing nervously.

"As your date?" Draco asked, his face a mask of confusion now.

"Well, yes," she replied, "but, you know, as friends. I think that Pansy would murder us if we didn't make that clear."

Draco laughed a little nervously. "Sure," he said, "I'll go with you."

"Great," she smiled at him widely. She could feel the stress vacating her body already, even as she noted how silly it was that they were still so nervous around each other despite sleeping in the same bed.

"I have Quidditch practice, I'll see you later," he said, flashing a grin at her and holding her gaze just a little too long. He was unable, like her, to hide his delight at this development. He was too happy to even worry about being slain by Pansy.

Breseis watched him leave the Great Hall with a small smile playing on her lips. She knew what she was doing was wrong, that she was being unfair to Pansy. But right now, she felt her needs were greater than Pansy's. Draco looked after her, without him she was vulnerable. Not directly to the outside world but to herself, her past, the things she had seen. She couldn't afford to slip back into the nightmares that had plagued her this year. That's what would make her vulnerable to everything else. She couldn't afford to mess up anything she was asked to do as a Death Eater. The price was too high. Breseis was not willing to risk her life for Pansy's happiness, not when Pansy was too horrible to try and be happy herself.

* * *

Pansy crossed her arms across her chest and pursed her lips. Surly was not an attractive expression on anyone, least of all her, but right now she didn't seem to care. She was absolutely fuming. She was so mad she didn't even have the words to scream at Draco, and had simply turned around and stalked off to her dormitory. Now she sat on the bed, staring expectantly at the door. Her Inquisitorial Squad badge glinted on her chest and she silently cursed it. Had she not been on duty this never would have happened. She'd never have allowed it.

The door opened and Pansy's jaw tightened. In walked Audra, closely followed by the girl who Pansy was waiting for: Breseis. Audra smiled at her, her eyes widening as she registered Pansy's expression and she turned hesitantly towards Breseis.

"Hey Pansy," she said, but was ignored.

"What exactly are you trying to pull, Lestrange?" Pansy snapped at Breseis, her back rigid and her expression livid.

"Excuse me?" Breseis asked mildly.

"You know what I'm talking about," Pansy said, her eyes narrowing, "You asked Draco to that party. Well guess what, he won't be going with you. I think you're forgetting he's _my_ boyfriend!"

Audra backed slowly to the other side of the room. The anger pulsing off Pansy was making her extremely nervous, and she did not want to be caught in the middle of a duel between a mad Pansy and Breseis. She still hadn't forgotten the power of Breseis's whispered Cruciatus Curse.

"No, I'm not forgetting that," Breseis replied, calmly, "However, you do not own Draco. He's my best friend and _that _is why I invited him to join me at the party. I'm not trying to pull anything unorthodox." She felt strangely like she was trying to convince herself and much as Pansy.

"Sure it is," spat Pansy sarcastically , "Oh, and guess what, Blast Ended Screwts can fly."

Breseis looked at her as if she was talking gibberish. Evidently she had never attended a Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid.

"Pansy, I really amn't looking for someone to date. I just want to go to this party and have fun with my _friend_."

"Well I guess I'll never know whether you're lying or not given that I'm not invited!" she screeched.

It was Breseis's turn to purse her lips. She clamped her teeth together and tried to hold onto her waning control over her temper, all that remained of the symptoms of her nightmares. Pansy was a bitch but it wouldn't do any good to curse her.

"I'm sorry about that," Breseis said, eventually, "But I can't really do anything to change that, Pansy. And it's not like Draco could have taken you anyway, he wasn't directly invited either. If it makes you feel any better Audra will give you a full account of what me and Draco get up to at the party once it's over."

Pansy turned to Audra and glowered.

"You're going?" she thundered.

"Well…yes. One of the Ravenclaws asked me," Audra said, flashing an annoyed look at Breseis.

"Audra and I are going shopping in Hogsmeade this Saturday for dresses," Breseis said, "Why don't you join us, you could get something new to wear for Christmas Dinner or something."

Breseis managed a meek smile at Pansy, whose returning smile was more of a grimace.

"Fine," she said, flashing Audra another dirty look before stalking out of the dormitory.

* * *

Later that night, when Breseis was lying in Draco's arms trying to get to sleep, Pansy plagued her thoughts. She searched and searched for a way to right the things she was doing, to get rid of the guilt which was seeping back into her mind, but the only thing she could think of was to stop seeing Draco. To stop sleeping in his bed, to un-invite him to Slughorn's party. And she couldn't do that. She was far too selfish to do that. There had to be something else.

She groaned in frustration and rolled away from Draco, putting her hands over her eyes.

"Are you still awake?" he mumbled sleepily.

"You know Pansy probably has every right to just murder us," she replied in a whisper, "Not only are we sleeping in the same bed every night, but we're lying to her as well."

"Not lying," Draco mumbled, turning on his side to face her, "Just not bringing it up."

"That's just as bad!"

"Why do you have so many morals when it comes to me and Pansy?" he asked, "You don't usually mind lying and deceiving," he gave a low chuckle, "I'd say you enjoy it most of the time- Ow!"

She smacked him smartly on the shoulder.

"Draco, be serious," she snapped under her breath, "We could really damage her by doing this."

"We aren't actually doing anything," he replied seriously now, "And if you think for one minute I'm letting you sleep on your own when you're nightmares could still come back, then you can think again. I will never let you get scared like that again."

She could vaguely make out the firm expression on his face and couldn't help but smile slightly at his words. He really did care about her, and it felt so good, so secure when she was reminded of it. And somehow, it felt better than being with Paris, even though she wasn't really with Draco. Somehow she had never quite felt this way about her former boyfriend, and she had never been so excited to go to a party with him, to be on his arm. Paris had always been too preoccupied with getting to the vodka fuelled after-parties that Durmstrang was so good at hosting.

Again, something almost audibly clicked in Breseis's brain.

"Draco, I've got it!" she sat up and rolled her eyes as he shushed her. The snoring boys who surrounded them through the veil of the curtains were too sound asleep to be awoken by Breseis, even if she was screaming this year's version of the Sorting Hat's song at the top of her voice. "We'll have an after-party."

"A what?"

"An after-party. You know, a party after the party. But a bit more wild!" her eyes were unusually fierce with enthusiasm, "We always used to have them at Durmstrang after the Christmas ball and the end of year ball and any other big events during the year. You and I can plan it, and this way everyone can be part of the party. People can come back here after Slughorn's and just have loads of fun!"

"Who are you and what have you done with Breseis Lestrange?" Draco asked her, "You are the most miserable git in the whole school when you want to be and suddenly you're behaving like a child on a sugar high. You sound like Pansy right now."

"Draco!" she hit his shoulder again, "This will be brilliant. And Pansy can stop sulking because she'll have something to look forward to. She can paw all over you at the after-party and get off my case about the official party."

"How exactly are you going to pull off a drink fuelled after-party?" he asked, "Besides, it's not really very distinguished, or very Slytherin."

"So?" she said, "it's so boring around here we need something like this! And you're underestimating me if you think I can't pull this off. I have a devious mind and a vault full of gold, Draco. To me nothing is impossible."

She smiled wickedly before snuggling back down into his arms. Now that her plan was in place and her worries sedated she fell asleep almost instantly. It was Draco's turn to worry. He could just picture Snape's face if he walked into the Slytherin common room to find it full of drunk students, and he didn't want to picture the punishment he and Breseis would face if that were to happen. Somehow, he could not find Breseis's level of excitement, but he wasn't about to argue with her about it. He was worried, not stupid.

* * *

Breseis fingered through the rack of dresses, her face falling further and further with every one she touched. She had expected that the Hogsmeade selection would be nothing on London, and rags compared to Paris, but she hadn't bargained for this. Some of the dresses were nice, some more than nice, but nearly all of them were short sleeved or strapless. She couldn't even try them on without exposing her burning, black Dark Mark. Audra, on the other hand, had her arms full of dresses and was bursting to get to the changing rooms.

"Come on Breseis!" she said excitedly, "There has to be something you like!"

"Oh, there are," she replied in mild irritation, "I just prefer sleeves."

Pansy was at the other side of the dress shop looking at the dress robes with a sullen expression. Breseis looked at her for a few moments and then turned back to Audra.

"You go and try them on," she smiled but it didn't reach her eyes, "Just shout for me if you need me."

Audra bounced off to the changing room and Breseis wandered over to Pansy.

"I don't know that dress robes are what you need for this party," Breseis told her, "Come and look at the dresses, they're much prettier."

Pansy turned and glared at her for a moment, before turning back to the rack to examine a purple set of robes.

"No, purple definitely isn't your colour, you should go for-"

"What? What should I go for Breseis? Seen as you're such a perfect know-it-all, tell me, what exactly should I wear?" she snapped, thrusting the dress robes back onto the rack.

"I was just trying to help, Pansy," Breseis replied, her jaw tightening.

"Well, don't," Pansy spat, before shoving passed Breseis and leaving the store.

Breseis rolled her eyes and flicked a stray curl off of her face before going over the changing rooms to help Audra choose a dress.

She'd been unbelievably busy over the past few days trying to organize things for the after-party. The first thing to worry about was secrecy. She couldn't be entirely sure that some little teacher's pet wouldn't overhear the plan and go and tell on her. She had deliberated for an entire Potions lesson over what she should do, and eventually come up with a plan. That night she had told the girls in her dormitory what was planned, but sworn them all to secrecy, and Draco had done the same with the most predictable liar he knew: Blaise. Nobody these days wanted to get on the wrong side of the children of Death Eaters, so the word would spread through careful whispers rather than loud gossip, anonymously travelling to only the people who could be trusted. She knew that word was spreading, but she was sure that it would never get back to any teachers. Anything said about a party had connotations of Slughorn as far as they were concerned.

Next she had noted her Gringotts vault number and dragged Draco down to the kitchens. She had never thought anything good could come from her time spent vomiting over her nightmares until now. There had been one night when she had been cooling her head against the cold floor tiles when two house-elves had come into the bathroom to lay out fresh towels. The two little creatures had been engrossed in a conversation over how exactly the students found the portrait which led to the kitchens, and how they worked out what to do to get in.

"I always thought that tickling the pear would be fool-proof," one had squeaked.

The two elves had unknowingly supplied her with all the information she needed, and so she had taken the reluctant Draco down to the kitchens. The elves there had been ecstatic to see them and plied them with coffee and cakes, while Breseis wore her most dazzling smile, flashing her white teeth at every opportunity.

"Would you mind keeping a secret for me?" she asked them, her eyes wide and sparkling.

"Of course! Of course!" the elves squeaked.

"Well," Breseis began, smiling at Draco, "Draco and I are throwing a secret party back in the Slytherin common room after Professor Slughorn's Christmas party."

She clamped her lips together and widened her eyes mischievously as the little elves giggled.

"We were wondering if you might be able to help us?" she asked and was met with a chorus of compliance. "Well, if I give you a list of things we need, and the money for everything, do you think you could get it for us by Friday night?"

The elves, unsurprisingly, could. They took the list and Breseis's vault number excitedly and said that they would put the order in with the order for Slughorn's party, and that everything would be there by Wednesday evening, if they could come and collect it. By that point the elves would be far too busy preparing things for Professor Slughorn. Breseis thanked them at least a hundred times before she and Draco left. He still wasn't quite as into this idea as she was.

Audra barely noticed Pansy's disappearance and bought three dresses in the end. Breseis gritted her teeth and through a disdainful glance at the racks full of dresses. They went for a drink at the Three Broomsticks before heading back to the school. Pansy was already there, sitting with Draco and looking surly as ever. Breseis sighed and supposed she'd never be able to do anything to fix Pansy's opinion of her, but as long as she was being a bitch, Breseis didn't feel so bad about sleeping in her boyfriends bed.

* * *

**Reviews are, as always, received with love!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Remember all, drink responsibly. Very bad things can happen if you're not careful…

Dandylion05x

p.s. only **2 more chapters** until the rewrite is over!!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

Breseis carefully smoothed the "ivory" coloured cream into her cheeks with her long fingers, desperately wishing that the pale shade she had chosen wouldn't be too dark for her skin. There were visible Lestrange genes in her yet, and her abnormally light skin was one of them. Trying to find make-up that wasn't too dark for her fair complexion was akin to raking through a hay stack for a pin. She let out an irritated sigh as a small blob of foundation dropped from her fingers and landed on her silk dressing gown. She _really_ hated make-up.

She didn't really need it anymore; since she had started sleeping through again her complexion had rapidly improved. However, make-up application was part of the pre-party ritual. In the Easter Holidays of her first year at Durmstrang her mother had sat Anya and she on the edge of her mammoth sized, four-poster bed so that they could see the mirror of Marie's dressing table.

"Make-up is sacred," she had begun in English, the only language all three spoke, "It should be used properly. By the ugly, that is _always_, but by the beautiful- and you, my little darlings, most certainly come under that last category- it should be worn on special occasions _only_."

She had then shown them the ritual of getting ready for a party, the precise routine she had been shown as a young and beautiful model. Anya and Breseis had taken it to heart and it had become customary before every big Durmstrang event and the plethora of parties they attended out of school. Breseis felt the natural compulsion to continue the tradition in Anya's absence. It didn't feel particularly right to do it alone, but she imagined it would be more wrong to not perform the sacred rite at all.

She sighed and smoothed her palms over her face, scrutinising what she had done so far before muttering "_tergeo_," twice under her breath and watching the lingering foundation wash away from her palms. She then dabbed a light layer of powder over her face to try and lighten the tone of her skin somewhat. When it had little effect she gave up and reached for her mascara.

"Breseis?" She almost poked her eye out in fright at the unexpected interruption..

"Pansy!" she gasped, "I didn't see you come in." She automatically flicked her eyes to her left arm, checking that the flimsy silk hadn't slipped to reveal a certain marking she desperately wanted to keep secret.

"Oh right," Pansy said carefully, before taking a strained breath "Sorry."

"That's okay, no harm done," Breseis lifted the mascara brush again.

"No, I mean, sorry for the way I've been acting, especially last weekend in Hogsmeade." It was taking her visible effort to form the words, but the conviction was in her eyes. She was sorry, she just didn't want to be.

Breseis had enjoyed one week of stony silence from Pansy. One week of Pansy haughtily getting up and leaving the common room, bedroom or Great Hall whenever Breseis entered. One week of pointedly loud sighs whenever Breseis answered a question correctly or did something right in class. One week of Pansy behaving like a petulant child.

"Don't worry about it, Pansy," Breseis smiled lightly at Pansy's reflection in the mirror.

"I know I'm pushing it by asking you this," Pansy was still struggling to speak the words she was trying to say, "But I was wondering if you might be able to help me decide what to wear to the party? What I mean is, do you have something I can perhaps…borrow?"

Breseis stared at her for a long moment, trying to work out if she was being serious.

"I want to look nice for Draco," she added quietly, looking severely ashamed of what she was doing.

"Well, I'm sure I can find you something," Breseis said, looking Pansy up and down, "But I'll have to adjust it, which will take a while, and I'll have to fix your hair," she contemplated Pansy's complexion for a few moments, "And if you're going to be drinking then a bit of make-up would probably be a good idea."

She stood up, looking slightly odd with only one eye coated with mascara, and pushed Pansy into the centre of the room. She slowly slid her eyes up and down Pansy's figure. Pansy had proper curves, though she wasn't fat. Breseis was like a bean-pole. Anything Pansy borrowed from her was going to be completely the wrong fit, shape and possibly colour. She chewed on her lip as she mentally raked through her clothes for what seemed like an awfully long time. Then suddenly, she clapped her hands together and marched over to the wardrobe that stood by her bed.

And then she climbed inside it.

Pansy's eyebrows furrowed in mingled shock and confusion. She walked cautiously towards the wardrobe and looked inside. Breseis was nowhere to be seen. She looked to the side then and her jaw dropped. There was no panel of wood marking the edge of the wardrobe. Instead, there was what could only be described as a tunnel stretching metres into the distance. A rail of expensive looking clothes in silks and satins ran across the edge, a shelf of shoes above it. Pansy pulled her head out of the wardrobe and checked the width of the wardrobe before sticking her head back in. The clothes rack stretched out to where the bathroom should be, through Pansy's own bed, without so much as touching them. Breseis was far down the rail, shining her wand light against the clothes and stumbling every so often. Pansy dropped her eyes to the ground and saw several wooden boxes lain unevenly on the floor, illuminated by the light around Breseis's bare feet.

"Breseis?" Pansy asked, biting her lip.

"Mm-hmm?"

"What are all those boxes for?"

"Oh, that's just the drinks for tonight," she said, stumbling back towards Pansy now.

Pansy's eyes widened as she took in the boxes. To say there was quite a lot of them was an understatement. They seemed to be lined all the way down the tunnel. Pansy could see the labels in the light from Breseis's wand. For a long time all they said were "butter beer" but after a while several crates of "mead" came into sight, as well as a fair few "Fire Whiskey."

"So, when did you do that?" Pansy gestured to the left side of the wardrobe where the concealed tunnel was.

"A couple of months ago, once my mother sent me that package with all my clothes in it," Breseis replied pulling Pansy back to the middle of the room and summoning a tape measure out of her trunk, "My mother taught Anya and I to do an internal extension charm a couple of years ago, after our wardrobe at Durmstrang collapsed under the weight of all our clothes," she let out a small giggle, before adding, "We used to just do it to drawers, because it's quite difficult to do on big objects, but I get a bit obsessed when it comes to Charms and so learned how to do it on the wardrobe."

"I've never noticed before, though," Pansy said, her eyes now following Breseis's hands as they quickly measured her waist, bust and hips.

"Well it's dark, isn't it? So I doubt you would have noticed."

"But why does it have to be so long?"

"Because all my clothes are inside it," Breseis said simply, now holding the dress she had procured from the tunnel-wardrobe out to Pansy, who began to awkwardly strip down to her underwear before climbing into it.

"Well all my clothes, and Audra's clothes and-"

"No, I mean, _all _the clothes I own, from home," Breseis corrected, "I don't know when I'll next be going back to France, so everything got sent here. I own a lot of clothes."

Something about the way that Breseis looked so detached from what she was saying made Pansy think that she wasn't telling the whole truth. But Pansy didn't probe her more. Breseis was concentrating on the dress that Pansy had stepped into now, murmuring spells under her breath to adjust the dress to the correct size.

"You know, if you'd just asked me earlier in the week, or earlier in the day even, I would have been able to do a much better job, this dress was from last Christmas when Anya and I decided to dress quite…inappropriately for the Christmas ball to see what the teachers would do," Breseis laughed, "It was quite tight."

"Were you two close then?" Pansy asked, trying her best not to imagine Breseis in the dress, "you and Anya?"

"Best friends," Breseis said, her smile fading now and the detached expression returning.

"But not anymore?" Pansy asked carefully, remembering Breseis's words from the previous week. Draco was her best friend now.

"No, I guess not," Breseis leaned back and looked at the dress on Pansy and gave a little nod, "Right, go and have a shower so I can do your hair."

She smiled kindly at Pansy, an unusual gesture for her, and then turned and sat back down at the dressing table, trying her hardest not to think about Anya as she continued to apply her make-up and heard the shower start up. Now was not a good time to get upset.

* * *

Draco sat in the common room facing the fire. The dull greenish lighting made his hair appear an odd colour but emphasised his dark green dress robes. He was on his own now, Blaise had gone to meet the little Ravenclaw sixth year he was taking to Slughorn's party. Yet the girls in the common room were still staring over at where he sat and giggling. It was unnerving, more unnerving than the buzz of chatter about the 'secret' party later that night.

He just wanted to think. He didn't want to be distracted into worrying over the after-party he had helped to organise, however unwillingly. He wanted to think about Breseis, and how he felt about her, and what he was going to do tonight. It made him nervous, his hands shook slightly because of it, and his breathing was uneasy. But it was an excited kind of nerves, not the sort that were thick with dread, such as his nerves about his return home the next day. Or those of the after-party: he had a feeling that something was going to go wrong with that.

"Draco, are you ready?" Breseis's voice met his ears from behind him.

He loved her voice, her strange cadence. It was an odd mix of proper English, romantic French and dry Russian. He thought she was like a gypsy at times; her accent was well travelled. He loved to hear her voice though, it reminded him that she was real and there and speaking to _him_. It was exciting and different. Everything about Breseis was exciting and different to him.

"Yes," he said turning around before stopping quite abruptly.

She looked astonishing. Her dark curls were sitting thicker and glossier than usual, with some of her front locks pulled back from her lovely face. Her make-up was uncharacteristic: smoky eye-shadow with dark, smudgy eyeliner and dark red lipstick against her pale skin and crisp blue eyes. She was a far cry from the carefully composed Breseis of norm. She wore a wine-red smock dress which fell to her mid-thigh and closed at the cuffs, concealing her Dark Mark, with sheer black stockings and black court shoes. Draco caught his breath and extended his arm for her to take.

"You look beautiful," he whispered in her ear as they left the common room.

"So do you," she replied, biting her lower lip as she nervously smiled up at him, a strange shiver running down her back.

Slughorn's office was lavishly decorated in expensive cloths and drapes, the light from a chandelier bouncing off of people's goblets. The guests were a mix of the Professor's favourite students of past and present and high-ranking friends he had accumulated over his many years. The other teachers had also been invited and were mostly mixing with guests they recognised as former students. There was a long buffet table and an extensive bar and people seemed to be gravitating around these central objects. As they arrived, Draco escorted Breseis to the bar and got her a goblet of mead and then found a quiet place for them to stand together and talk.

"Breseis," Draco interrupted her story about the time that the Lestranges had first escaped from prison and Rabastan and Vlad had almost gotten into a duel with each other over her mother.

"Yes?" she replied, "Sorry, am I boring you?"

"No, not at all," he said, looking extremely nervous and feeling quite sick now, "There's something I've been meaning to say to you."

"Oh, right," she said with a small smile. His nervousness made her nervous too. He held her gaze, studying the shape of her eyes and he felt as though he was sinking into their ice blue depths. He took a deep breath.

"Breseis, I am in-"

"So this is where you've been hiding, Breseis!" Slughorn's voice boomed as he walked over to them.

"Professor Slughorn!" Breseis smiled politely at him while Draco's face fell.

"Come on dear, there are so many people I want to introduce you to," He took her by the elbow and she grabbed Draco's arm to make sure he stayed with her, "This here is Gerald Buckland, ex-editor of _Witch Weekly_. I introduced him to your mother in her seventh year and he had her on his cover within weeks of her leaving Hogwarts! Gerry, this is _Mademoiselle Désirée_ the second!"

Draco sighed with irritation. He doubted now if he'd ever get a chance to tell Breseis the things he wanted to.

* * *

Breseis stood in the middle of the common room turning to face each wall in turn while muttering a sound proof charm, having already done the ceiling. Against the walls Slytherin boys she had commissioned were stacking the crates of alcohol procured from her enchanted wardrobe. She marvelled once more at how many of them were carrying the crates rather than charming them into the room and she thought to herself that pure blood didn't always mean common sense.

She wandered over to a crate and procured a bottle of mead, before having a look around for the crate containing the glasses and goblets. After she had poured her glass of mead the room was steadily filling up and someone was putting on a record. Breseis smiled to herself before locating Draco and making her way over to him. He was smiling at her as she approached and she felt her face blush slightly. When she got to his side she found herself instinctively taking his hand and entwining her fingers in his. He gave her hand a little squeeze and looked down into her eyes.

"Can I tell you what I was going to tell you earlier?" he asked her quietly.

"Mm-hmm," she bit her lip, letting her eyes get even more lost in his. Her heart began to pound heavily in her chest and it was suddenly very difficult to breathe. Each breath was pronounced and weighted.

He towed her gently to the corner of the room, so that they were in the shadows, keeping her fingers in his grasp at all times. He leaned down into her, his eyes searching her face before locking back into her wide, expectant eyes. He couldn't believe how long it had taken him to tell her this, or how much he had needed to.

"Breseis," he paused and took her in once more, "I am, and have been for a long time now, completely and utterly in lo-"

"Pansy!" Breseis jerked her hand out of Draco's and waved over his shoulder.

Draco turned around to see his girlfriend walking in their direction, looking almost unrecognisable. Her hair was glossy and sleek, falling lightly to her bare shoulders. Her face was lightly coated with makeup and her lashes lengthened with a faint touch of mascara. She wore a black tulip dress that shimmered green in the light of the common room. She looked pretty, and she smiled at Breseis as she came to stand beside Draco, slinking her arms around his waist. Disappointment weighed down his heart.

"You look great, Pansy," Breseis told her, before smiling slightly up at Draco, "I better leave you two to it."

She walked away from them feeling extremely unsteady. There was a lump in her throat and what felt like a weight in her stomach. She was smiling at people automatically but her head wasn't registering anything. There was a thick fog descending over her brain, blocking out the rest of the world. She realised with a sickening lurch how truly jealous she was of Pansy. She wanted to stand in Draco's arms more than anything, but she was forced to walk away while _that_ silly girl got to take her place. It felt so unbelievably wrong.

She went through the night speaking with people without really noticing them or taking in the mindless conversations she was having. She discussed how her dress had belonged to her mother back in the seventies and the planning of the party, the good selection of alcohol, the couples who had snuck into corners under the impression they were undetected, but she never really took in what was going on. It was all just surface noise, glossing over her internal dilemma.

After a few hours had slipped past unnoticed she sat herself down in front of the fire beside a sulky looking Blaise. Nearby people were dancing to the wireless and Breseis recognised the band as being Russian: the singer had been a couple of years above her at Durmstrang and Anya had once gone to the Christmas ball with him. She laughed at the long forgotten memory and flashed an attempt at a smile at the annoyed looking Blaise.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. He flashed a glare over to an armchair where his date for the evening sat glowering into the fire. Breseis let out another laugh. "Oh dear, what happened?"

Blaise was saved from recounting his failed evening by a loud crash from behind them. They both turned around to see Pansy trip over a table covered in empty bottles, looking a little worse for wear. Draco caught her and helped her up and she threw her arms around his neck and smashed her mouth into his.

And he didn't push her away.

Breseis felt her entire body sink as Draco let Pansy kiss him and then, when she let him go and smiled at him, he lifted her up and carried her through to the dormitories as her head lolled sleepily on his shoulder.

Breseis pressed her eyes closed as she tried to take in what had just happened. Hadn't Draco been about to confess his true feelings for her just hours before? Hadn't he tried to tell her he was in love with her twice that very night? She had been sure of it, and desperate for it. She finally felt able to let him love her, to stop fighting. But Pansy had suddenly changed. She was being nice, asking for help even though she was supposed to hate Breseis. Maybe Draco had noticed the change. Maybe he had been trying to tell Breseis gently that he was in love with Pansy, and that he really did just want to be Breseis's friend. She felt a little shaky and lifted her goblet to her lips, tipping back her head back and downing the entirety of it's contents.

She then stood up and looked around for the nearest bottle of mead. Her eyes connected with the bottle next to Blaise's elbow and she grabbed it and looked at the label. _Fire Whiskey, excellent_, she thought and poured a full goblet of it, before knocking it back as easily as the mead and relishing in the way it burned her throat. She poured another and took another big gulp, only half finishing her goblet this time. Rolling her shoulders back she ran her free fingers through her curls, already aware of the light-headedness creeping over her. She looked down at Blaise who was staring at her incredulously.

"Thirsty?" he asked sarcastically, and she replied by downing the remainder of her goblet. "I'll have on of those."

She poured him a glass full and he copied her, drinking it in one extended gulp. He shivered a little and then held out his glass again. She poured the amber liquid into his glass once more and then lifted the bottle to her lips and took a drink from it, discarding her goblet without a passing thought. She remembered the music playing then, the band she knew, the music she liked. And then she looked back at Blaise. He was good looking, she'd give him that much. Better looking than most. And he wouldn't reject her, especially after his awful evening. If Draco was in love with Pansy, why shouldn't she just have some fun? She took another drink from the whiskey bottle and locked eyes with Blaise. His expression instantly changed, his eyes sparkling as if he had just won the Tri-wizard cup.

He reached his hand up for the bottle and she passed it to him, never once losing his gaze. Her heart pounded slightly harder as she brushed his fingers in passing over the bottle. He took a deep drink from it and then passed it back. She caught his wrist and pulled him to his feet, gently backing towards the dancers and pulling him with her. She took another drink, and so did he, and then she put down the bottle and began to dance, letting herself forget everything else. Paris and Anya and Pansy and Draco. They were no longer in her consciousness. All that remained was her and Blaise and whiskey and music. Blaise slid his hands onto her waist carefully, but she wasn't going to pussy foot around. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself into him, looking up once more into his dark eyes. He leaned down to her, his hands sneaking lower than the small of her back.

As their lips greedily met each other barely anybody noticed, and those who did were far too drunk to really understand what they were seeing. All except Draco, who watched with a sinking heart as Breseis and Blaise lost themselves in each other. His eyes stung as he stormed back into the dormitories and slammed the bedroom door behind himself.

* * *

**As usual, reviews are received with love!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Uh-oh! Naughty, naughty Breseis!

Quick update on…updates… We're about half way through the story now (it's only taken a year!) and this is the second last chapter of my rewrite! I've been churning them out fast this past couple of weeks! Sorry if it's been annoying getting a gazillion alerts in your inbox those of you who subscribe, but I thought it was best just to get it done. Thanks for sticking with me!!

Dandylion05x

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

Breseis let out a small groan as she registered that she was awake and therefore the pain she was feeling was real. Her head felt as though it was seconds away from spontaneous combustion and her stomach was lurching in antagonising ways that made her positively lust after the weeks she had spent vomiting her nights away. At least then she had actually felt relief as she emptied her gut. She could tell that this sickness was not going to be so easily cured. Gingerly she prised her lashes apart to take in her surroundings. This was no mean feat: last night's mascara had all but glued her eyelids shut.

She immediately regretted her decision as the sharp light stabbed her eyes and her head flinched with pain. She slammed them tight shut once more and crushed her forefingers to her temples, trying her best to focus. Slower now, one fraction of a millimetre at a time, she opened her eyes. The steadily increasing dose of light didn't have the same sting and she had soon regained her sight. She registered that she was lying down in the common room; she could tell from the odd greenish light. The strange, tight sensation coming from her upper thighs, as if she were stuck to something, enlightened her to the fact that she was lying on one of the leather sofas. The weight and harsh breathing beside her told her that she was not alone.

Carefully, so as not to wake her mystery companion, whose arm she could feel lying limp across her waist, she sat up. Her head spun from the movement and she had to press her eyes closed again for a few moments. When she reopened them the first thing to hit her was the overwhelming mess the common room was in. Empty bottles, discarded glasses and goblets, sweet packets, clothing…clothing-less people lay everywhere, strewn in ungainly heaps. Breseis's companion wriggled and she shut her eyes tight again. She took a deep breath and then peaked down to her side.

"Gah-_ah_!"

She slapped her hands to her face. Blaise. _Blaise?_ What on earth had she been thinking? Her jaw was hanging open in shock. A trick of the light? A mirage created by a dehydrated brain? She peaked again. Nope. He was still there, fast asleep, arm draped over her and completely shirtless. She ran her eyes down her own body and shuddered. Her stockings were laddered beyond repair, the skirt of her (already quite short) dress was barely covering the black lace of her underwear and, the bit that worried her the most, her suspenders were unclipped. And to top everything off nicely her sleeves were rolled up so her Dark Mark was on show. It was safe to say she was fairly relieved to be the only person awake.

There was a horrible ripping sound as she unstuck her legs from the leather, she bit her lip to try and silence her internal squeal of pain. She then thrust Blaise's arm from her, already sure that even if she were to start using him as a trampoline he would stay sleeping, and got up, trying to ignore the dizziness caused by the rashness of her actions. That was when the smell hit her. The stale stench of that night's- well that morning's, to tell the truth- alcohol. It polluted every pore of her body with it's vile aroma. Her head pounded and her stomach gave a violent lurch. She clasped a hand to her face, concealing and protecting her nose and her mouth, and ran from the common room and back to her dormitory.

With one fleeting, desperate look at her inviting bed, she grabbed her towel and dressing gown and headed straight into the bathroom. The steady drill of the water on the shower floor was usually calming. Today it made Breseis irate. The water was hot and soothing, though, and it felt nice to have it carefully right her matted hair. All the while she searched her clouded brain for memories of the night before. She could remember Draco carrying Pansy off, and the intense jealousy which seemed somewhat silly now. Intensified by her mead fuelled brain, no doubt. And she could remember the first glass of Fire Whiskey and the way she enjoyed how it burned her throat. And then… Nothing.

She sighed in frustration and reached violently out for the shampoo. She squeezed a large dollop into her hand and the smell of its alcohol content made her recoil almost instantly. Not great after God knows how much Fire Whiskey. A fuzzy image made it's way to the front of her mind then, as if she was looking at a poorly developed photo of herself from the night before. She was standing in front of Blaise, gulping down Fire Whiskey straight from the bottle. Another image followed it, her arms wrapped around Blaise's neck, their lips locked together. She could remember the feeling that went with this image; the furious need to satiate her jealousy. It was sickening.

The memories became less like photographs then as they came back to her in small pieces. She and Blaise had danced and kissed. Perhaps kissed wasn't quite the right word, it made it seem civilised. Breseis thought that animal was possibly a better word to best describe their charming display. Then the music had stopped and people had begun to leave: well, those who were alone and able at least. She couldn't remember getting to the sofa but she could remember what happened on arrival. She was sure Blaise's shirt had been lost during the journey as in her memory he was clearly topless as she pushed him down onto the leather sofa and climbed on top of him, straddling him: she felt completely repulsed. Her memories began to falter soon after this, and she pushed what she _could _remember to the back of her mind, into the little box of things she would never think about again.

They seeped out the sides anyway.

* * *

"You look worse than I feel!"

Pansy's groggy exclamation provoked an ungainly grimace from Breseis. She dropped herself into the chair in front of the dressing table and let out a small huff at her appearance. Pansy sat upright in her bed and seemed openly pleased that Breseis looked so rough. This was, of course, short lived due to the fact that Pansy, in an effort to look grown up, had been drinking mead the night before. Nobody saw it fit to tell her that one does not drink mead as one drinks butter beer but rather sips at it. Now she was paying a heavy price for this misdemeanour. Still, she hadn't downed half a bottle of Fire Whiskey.

It was true that Breseis was hardly looking her best. Truth be told, she had looked better when she was under-slept and under-fed, because then she had still been making an effort to hold her appearance together. Today she had blasted her hair with hot air using the still foggy mirror in the bathroom. It hung in loose waves rather than contrite curls: she had dried it too fast for it to set naturally and she was far to disorientated to even comprehend making the intricate wand movements required for her hairstyle of preference. There were purplish circles under her eyes and red blotches making her skin tone uneven. She sat now in her make-up stained dressing gown staring at her reflection and barely caring.

She reached out for the hair sleeking potion without her normal conviction, spilling some into her hands as she yawned widely. She thought she was going to be sick as she lifted her hands towards her head and the stench hit her. She should be so lucky. She was merely more uncomfortable. No chance of any relief today. She held her breath as she smoothed the potion through her hair though it made little difference. The smell still burned her nose and throat.

After that she opened the wardrobe and silently summoned clothes to her. Pansy was in the middle of joyously scrutinising Breseis's abnormally crappy hair when Breseis slipped out of her dressing gown. Pansy's eyes widened at Breseis's green lace lingerie, noting the way that there was no clasp to her bra at the back. She wore a front clasping bra? She wore _lingerie_? Pansy felt faint that this was who she was competing with for Draco's most desirous affections. She didn't have to see it for long, within seconds Breseis was pulling on the cream, cotton dress that Pansy would soon recognise as the one she had worn when they had first met, months ago in Diagon Alley. But before any recognition could sink in, Pansy saw something else: a flash of black against Breseis's left arm. She couldn't be sure, and she composed her face before Breseis could turn around to sit down on the edge of her bed and begin pulling on her grey woolen tights. Had Pansy not been otherwise occupied, deciphering the meaning of the strange black thing, she might have laughed at how Breseis was abandoning all her airs and graces in light of her hangover.

Pansy focused her eyes on the girl's left arm. The cotton of the dress was thin, it was meant for the summer, but she was not quite able to see through it. And the movement of Breseis's arms and hands as she put on the tights did not help her to focus. But then something happened, something significant. Breseis stopped the movement and her arm flinched, as if she had just been burned. Beneath the fabric of her dress, what Pansy had taken to be a shadow glowed red. Pansy's mouth fell open in horror.

_Damn_, Breseis thought. Fighting against the irritation coming from her Dark Mark, the aftermath of her burning summons, she sped up getting dressed. She thrust her feet into her fur-lined snow boots: the same ones that she had once held climbing a stone staircase in an old dream. She then rushed over to the mirror and dabbed powder onto her face to slightly even out her skin tone before grabbing her cloak from the still open wardrobe and muttering some excuse about seeing Madam Pomfrey to Pansy. She supposed she'd meet Draco on the way and they could-

Draco.

What had she done?

* * *

Breseis and Draco walked along the corridor of the Hogwarts Express side by side, Breseis looking slightly green. She hadn't really thought that she would be drinking the best part of a bottle of whiskey at her much desired after-party and so hadn't seen any problem with the train journey home the following day. That was, until she got on the train. Now she was entirely sure that the after-party had been about the worst idea she'd ever had. She was almost sure that Draco already knew about her recent encounter with Blaise, although she didn't know how. Blaise surely couldn't have had a chance to tell him. He'd still been in exactly the same position that Breseis had left him in when she had run through the common room on her way to the Head Master's office. And after that everyone had been packing. So there had been no time to tell him. Perhaps Draco was just hung over, and that's why he was acting strangely.

Packing had been a nightmare once back in the dormitory. The magical extension charm to Breseis's trunk had worn off: it had been one of the first things she had ever extended and didn't have the same strength as the charm on the wardrobe. She had had to redo the charm before summoning all her clothes into it, which had taken a long time. In the end, she had given up on ever getting things in neatly and just started to dump garments into the case. As she did it she wondered if the Fire Whiskey had burned away her essence, because she was definitely not acting like herself right now. Sloppy spells, sloppy hair, inappropriate liaisons with Blaise Zabini of all people! Where would it end?

"How long do we have?" she asked Draco, peering in the window of the next compartment.

"Five minutes," Draco spoke in monotone, staring blankly through the passing compartment windows.

"Should be enough time," Breseis said, trying to mentally calculate how far down the train they were, how many carriages they still had to search. It hurt.

Draco didn't even bother to reply. He just continued walking down the train looking utterly bored. The scent of his aftershave kept wafting Breseis's way and she was more than sure she was going to be sick. The scent of alcohol was so repulsive and strong, at times it was actually making her shudder. And to make matters worse,

the second the scent touched her nose she was instantly reminded of the photo-memory: her, Blaise and the bottle of whiskey. She refused to take the memory further than that, but she couldn't rid herself of the anger at what her drunken stupidity might have cost her.

"Oh, this is it!" Breseis grabbed Draco's arm to stop him. She felt an internal stab as he shrugged her off of him.

Four people sat in the compartment: two boys, two girls. Breseis recognised Neville Longbottom, the boy who always glared at her, the boy who's parents her father had tortured into insanity. He sat next to a red-headed girl, slender and beautiful even with the disgusted look she wore on her face at the sight of the newcomers. Breseis vaguely knew the other boy from some of her classes. He was sandy haired and had a strong Irish lilt and looked just as contemptuous as the others. And then there was the blonde haired oddity, Luna Lovegood. Breseis ignored the others and smiled at her indifferent face.

"Hello Luna," she said, trying to make her slightly hoarse voice sound endearing, "I'm Breseis."

"I know," Luna replied serenely, "Your dad was the one who tortured Neville's parents."

Breseis's smile faltered. She could feel Longbottom's glare burning against her skin.

"Well, be that as it may," she struggled to hold onto the seams of her control now, she knew her eyes were pinched and her smile was false but she continued, "There's some business I'd like to speak over with you," she hesitated to sweep a glance around Luna's acquaintances, "Alone."

"Oh, alright then," Luna said chirpily and stood up. Breseis flashed a triumphant smile at her, stepping out the road to let her past.

"Luna!" Longbottom called after her.

"I'll be fine, Neville!"

Breseis smiled patronisingly over Luna's shoulder at the remaining occupants of the compartment as she shut the door and heard the crunch of glass shattering as a jinx hit the window after her. Draco watched her warily, unsure of why Breseis was antagonising them. Breseis gestured for Luna to follow her to just beside the carriage door. She flashed a glance at Draco's watch and he turned it obligingly to face her. Two minutes.

"Luna, I understand your father is the editor of the _Quibbler _magazine," Breseis asked, sounding interested.

"Oh, yes, Daddy prints it at home," Luna replied, smiling radiantly.

"Very interesting. It has very interesting content," Breseis inclined her head.

"Yes, well Daddy's had to cut back on his normal articles recently, although there's still some room for things about nargles and plimpies," Luna was looking out of the window, smiling slightly, "Daddy is even putting in an article about the Crumple-horned Snorkack horn he managed to get me for my Christmas."

"Oh," Breseis barely understood a word of what had just been said, "Well, some people, important people, aren't too happy with the content of your father's magazine-"

"Oh I know," Luna said conversationally, "Daddy's been getting some very threatening letters recently."

"Yes, well, the…authorities have decided it's time for action. Your father has to be punished, you see Luna," Breseis turned to look out the window as the train began to slow, "And we feel this is the only way…"

Breseis trailed off as Luna's face dawned with comprehension at the sight of two masked wizards in black robes standing outside the nearly still train. She let out a small "oh" as the two men followed the train the last little bit and opened the carriage door when it finally came to a standstill. Then, in Breseis's opinion, Luna did something very silly.

"Neville!" she shrieked.

Breseis automatically spun around to face the compartment they had not long vacated to see Luna's three friends bounding out and staring in horror at the two Death Eaters entering the carriage.

"Hey!" Neville called, before aiming a spell at the Death Eaters who were now quickly grabbing Luna. The blonde haired girl shrieked and struggled. Breseis flicked her wand and shielded her allies from the spell. Draco looked ready to throw some curses back in Neville's direction but Breseis brushed his arm and shook her head.

Luna continued to struggle and Neville and his friends made to go to her aid. The two Death Eaters were struggling to drag her from the train. Breseis did not want to turn this into a fight, she felt far too ill to concentrate like that. She acted quickly, smiling cruelly at Luna's oncoming defenders before turning smoothly around. At her side she casually flicked her wand, so quickly that it was impossible to see where the jet of red light flew from. In her head she shrieked _Stupefy!_ as loud her mind would allow. The girl was instantly stunned and pulled from the train, the door crashing shut behind her. There was a loud crack as the two Death Eaters apparated and disappeared, Luna with them. Breseis turned around just in time to shout "_Protego!"_ and block the oncoming bout of curses. It was then that people started to come out their compartments to see what was going on.

"Look what you've done!" Breseis gestured out the window, "You stunned her, she might have been saved if you hadn't acted so rashly."

Draco stared at Breseis in confusion and then slowly a look of disgusted comprehension dawned on his face.

"That wasn't us!" the red-head shrieked, making to go for Breseis without her wand, rashly rolling her sleeves up her arms.

"Well then, who do you think it was?" Breseis asked menacingly, it was a threat not a question. "Us?" She gestured to Draco and herself. "You're going to accuse _us_ of attacking the girl?"

"Come on, Ginny," the sandy-haired boy pulled her the redhead back, with difficulty, "There's nothing we can do."

"Don't blame me for your terrible aim, dear, it's unbecoming," Breseis said, smiling with acid sweetness at the murderous looking girl.

She struggled against the binding hands of her two friends, growling fiercely at Breseis. Her eyes were still alive with malice. The Irish boy eventually shoved her into her compartment and she let out a roar of fury. Neville Longbottom lingered a few moments, looking at Breseis, only Breseis, with cold eyes. She raised her chin indignantly but said nothing. Inside, just like every other time she had caught him staring at her, she felt an unwelcome, uncomfortable twist of guilt. He shook his head slightly as he moved back into his compartment.

"Calm down, Ginny," Breseis heard him mutter as he closed the door, "She'll be alright."

Onlookers began to disappear after that and Breseis and Draco were left alone. Draco found it easy to forget this side of Breseis, the side of her that was truly Lestrange, truly Death Eater, when he was holding her late at night. Today he thought she seemed more menacing because of the contrast between her calculated, malicious words and actions and her oddly childlike appearance. She wore wooly tights and boots, a Slytherin scarf around her neck and her face was suddenly flushed with colour after the excitement. She was like a little she-devil, deceptively evil.

Today she repulsed him.

Draco's mind travelled back to the night before and the image of Breseis and Blaise wrapped around each other. He squirmed at the raw passion of their kiss and felt ashamed that he'd ever thought he could be enough for Breseis. He could never match Blaise in experience, charm or looks. And then he remembered the Boggart from the first Dark Arts lesson of the year. The tall, muscular, angular-jawed boy that was the image of Breseis's former boyfriend. He had been more Greek God than Greek wizard. Draco filled with anger at himself that he'd ever dreamed he could match Paris, ever live up to the impossibly high standards he had set. Draco had stupidly thought that the fact he would never leave her, never break her heart, would be enough for Breseis. He was sure that was what scared her, gave her nightmares: her past heartbreak. But now he saw how wrong he was. She needed spontaneous passion not careful love.

"I'm very happy for you and Pansy, by the way," Breseis said, keeping her eyes forward and dragging Draco back to the present.

"What?" Draco snapped his head round to look at her without comprehension.

"You and Pansy, I saw you last night. You looked happy," she smiled slightly, "I know that you were trying to tell me you were in love with her last night, but really there was no need to go about it so carefully. You don't need to try and spare my feelings, Draco."

"Breseis, what in the name of Merlin are you talking about?" Draco stopped not far from the compartment where Pansy, Blaise and the others sat.

"I'm talking about you being in love with-"

"Where on earth did you get that idea from?" he asked, his eyebrows rising scarily high on his forehead.

"Well last night, when I saw you and Pansy-"

"Oh, I see," Draco nodded, some of his inner anger beginning to seep out, "You're trying to turn this onto me."

"_What_?" she asked.

"Oh, don't pretend like that Breseis," Draco snapped, "You are trying to make it look like you only ran off and slept with Blaise because you saw Pansy kiss me."

"Excuse me?" Breseis looked at him incredulously, "That's what you think?"

"No, not what I think, what I know," Draco said, glaring at her, "I saw you, both of you, wrapped around each other."

"Draco, I-"

"Don't even bother trying to manipulate me, Breseis, I'm not in the mood," Draco spat, "If you want to shag that arrogant bastard, it's really none of my business, but don't blame me for your pathetic regrets!"

"Well," Breseis's voice began to sound a little shaky, "If that's how you feel, then I suppose there's no point in me trying to convince you otherwise."

Draco looked at her for a few long moments before giving a disgusted sigh. He marched into their compartment and sat down next to a rather queasy looking Pansy. Breseis followed quietly behind him and wavered on the threshold of the compartment, unsure of where to sit. Draco deliberately slung his arm around Pansy's shoulders and she snuggled into his chest. He tilted his head at Breseis and she felt the full impact of the jibe. She dropped her eyes and reluctantly moved to the window seat beside Blaise. Draco made another, more subtle, disgusted noise but Breseis heard it and knew it was aimed at her. She pressed herself as far into the window as she could manage, silently begging a higher entity that Blaise wouldn't touch her.

Both Draco and Breseis travelled the long journey home in deep discomfort, feeling the aching and angry distance forming between them.

* * *

**As usual, reviews are received with love!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Okay, final chapter of my rewrite!! Very exciting (for me- have you ever tried to rewrite half of a novel length fic? No mean feat, I tell you.) Anyhow, with a little help from my pals The Clash, Lily Allen and the amazing Dizzee Rascal (two things, first did you know he was stabbed nine times and survived? and second, I get to see him next month at Rockness!!!) I have persevered. I'm hoping that as you've read this far you have enjoyed the story. Comments/subscriptions etc are always greatly appreciated, even if like some anonymous reviewers, you want to make a comment about Rabastan Lestrange wearing hotpants. To conclude this mini-essay I would like to be really cheesy and say thanks to my chum who has stuck with me from the very beginning (seriously, she was my first reviewer) and now deals with my ranting emails on a regular basis!

Now onto the actual story, lots going on today!

Dandylion05x

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One**

A thin layer of powdery snow coated the window sill and thick frost stuck to the glass panes, obscuring the outdoor view. The long, dark green drapes hung open and the cold white light shone sharply into the room, reflecting the colour of the late December morning into the large suite. The temperature was so low that the air felt strangely damp and as Breseis slipped back into consciousness she gave a little shiver and reached out to the other side of the king-size bed and clawed for the warm body of another. No one was there.

Breseis peeped out from under her thick fringe of dark lashes and her heart audibly sunk in her chest. A horrible, burning lump rose in her throat. She was alone- again. This was the third morning in a row she had awoken to discover the absence of anyone else in her bed. Well, the fourth if she counted that horrendous morning she awoke on the couch next to- She stopped that thought in its tracks and relocked the little memory box in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind, marked _FORBIDDEN_.

My God, she missed Draco. She could actually feel her bones ache for him. She hadn't thought it was possible for her to love him more than when she first told him that they couldn't be romantically involved- with good reason, she added. She had just assumed it was not possible. And then he had turned into her knight in shining armour, rescuing her from her nightmares and keeping her snuggly warm and comfortable at night. For a long time now she had felt a weight lift from her heavy heart, a warmth creep through her body, and an easiness when she thought of the things of the past: Paris and Anya and the times before everything became so utterly messed up.

She felt like summer again. Not in the sense of the actual season. The snow and the freezing air were testimony to that. She felt like the way she had in summer, like the air was heavy and the world was rotting slowly around her. Only now there was no light, no bright spot, no Draco. She was all alone and she could feel the weight again, pressing on her from all sides. And there was an ache now, more painful than the one Paris had left, which still throbbed from time to time. This new ache was constant and overwhelming. But it wasn't in her heart the way she thought it was supposed to be, it was in her stomach and her arms. A horrendous cramp unwilling to ease. That's what had made its source so untraceable at first. She had assumed that she was sick. It wasn't until now, when the disappointment caught her off guard for the third time in a row, that she realised the pain was caused by Draco. He hadn't broken her heart; he'd broken her body.

A large tear slid down her cheek and she turned her face into her pillow as more followed, muffling her sobs. She wasn't supposed to be this weak! But she loved him so much more than she could ever explain. And everything was such a mess. She sat up and growled in frustration at herself, wiping her hand across her wet, clammy face. _That__'__s enough_, she told herself firmly, _pull yourself together, woman, you did this and you__'__re never going to fix it crying into your pillow like a baby_. She pushed her thick quilt off of herself and shuddered as the cold hit her pale limbs- the consequence of wearing next to nothing in mid-winter. She slung her legs off the bed and headed for the en-suite bathroom with puffy eyes and soft sobs still catching in her throat.

* * *

Draco stared at the ceiling, the vast expanse of grey and the long sharp slit of light leaking through the space between his curtains; he hadn't closed them properly the night before. His pale skin was covered in goose pimples. He could feel the tiny little bumps all over his bare chest, where his hands rested. It felt odd to be alone in bed. It had felt odd the night before. And the night before that. The first night had been different of course; he had still been so incredibly seething with anger that he had relished in not having to touch Breseis's scheming, deceitful body. That relish had dissipated with the anger which went to sleep every night when he closed his heavy bedroom door and forlornly tugged at his curtains

During the day was a different story. The moment his sight touched her glorious form all the hurt he had felt on seeing her wrapped around Blaise came back, seeped in a fire that raged through his veins, his mind and destroyed all other thoughts of her. Her voice was no longer music, the sound it produced he likened to fingernails scraping down a blackboard. If he ever caught her eye, he was no longer entranced. He felt like he could see all the ugly within her. It was as if behind the enchanting blue windows, thick, poisonous tar was bubbling.

Now, lying in his large bed all alone, the longing was back. There was anger too, but at himself. On that train, he should have just told her that he didn't love Pansy, that he loved her, Breseis. But she had taken no time in grabbing Blaise at that party so surely her feelings for Draco could not be nearly as strong as his feelings for her? Or was it just that the concoction of alcohol and seeing him kiss Pansy had been too much, and she had gone to Blaise for comfort? Had she really thought that he was trying to tell her that he loved _Pansy_? It seemed too far fetched.

This was, he decided, essentially Pansy's fault. If she had not come over just as he was about to confess all to Breseis, then he could have ended things with her the next morning, Blaise would never have come into the picture, and Breseis would be sprawled over his goose bumped chest right now, her long curls covering her face and his side slightly heated by her Dark Mark. For a moment, he could feel her there, the weight of her body, the ticklish caress of her hair on his chin as she gently stirred, her soft, sweet breath on his naked skin. The sound of the shower next door, through the wall in Breseis's suite, instantly shattered his dream. All that was left was his anger at himself.

He stood up not quite knowing what he was doing, and began to head for the door. He stopped midway as his thoughts cried _No!_ She was in the shower. Now would not be the best time to confess his love. To apologise. He should wait until she was fully clothed. A small part of his brain, which was not saturated in anger at himself, noted that maybe it would be a good thing if he went in there right now… To see what Blaise had already seen, be where Blaise had already been. He let out a loud growl and turned to the wall, punching it as hard as he could before letting his face fall against the hard coolness. He was only vaguely aware of the hot tears slipping from his eyes.

What a wonderful beginning to Christmas Day.

* * *

The parlour curtains were still drawn and the Christmas Tree twinkled by the window. A large, warm fire burned in the fireplace so the room was wonderfully warm and smelt like Christmas should smell. Rodolphos, Rabastan and Lucius were situated in various arm chairs around the room when Breseis entered, dressed in long silk robes of deepest navy and nervously twirling her onyx ring around and around her finger. She was filled simultaneously with relief and heart break when she saw that Draco was not yet in the room. She felt very alone in this massive house filled with people. Pouting her lips slightly she looked around the parlour, her eyes drifting automatically to her father. It was a split-second decision, but she was soon ghosting across the room to the armchair where he sat staring into the whispering flames. Delicately she brushed his shoulder with her hand and slunk into his lap. She felt his back turn rigid and she saw him look to his brother in fright. Rodolphos nodded at him with some reassurance and he awkwardly placed an arm around his daughter's tiny body. She pressed her face into his robes and smelt pipe smoke and ale, the smells that had always been missing from her childhood.

Rabastan awkwardly pressed his face into her hair and was almost choked by the overly familiar smell, the lingering scent of Marie.

"Merry Christmas, darling," he whispered to her, subconsciously mistaking her for someone very far away..

Breseis smiled to herself and nuzzled her face into his chest a little more.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy."

She didn't know how long she was curled up in her father's lap, drifting in between sleep and lucidness, before her senses were brought abruptly back to the real world by her favourite voice in the whole world.

"Merry Christmas, Father," she looked up at Draco, but he wasn't paying her the slightest bit of attention. He was resolutely focused on the book he had brought downstairs with him, as if he was scared of what would happen if he looked at her.

Narcissa and Bellatrix soon joined them in the parlour, and most of the day was spent there. It was like any other day at Malfoy Manor: peacefully quiet. Presents were exchanged- Breseis received several expensive treasures from both the Malfoy and Lestrange vaults at Gringotts. It was late afternoon before everyone decided it was a good time to eat and vacated the Parlour. Christmas Dinner was grand, but didn't differ that much from any other meal the Malfoys served.

"Will the Dark Lord not be joining us?" Breseis asked after a long period of silence.

"Ha!" Rodolphos laughed, "He isn't exactly the biggest fan of Christmas. It is technically a Muggle holiday, after all." There was a small amount of nervous, verging on hysteric, laughter around the table.

"What a shame you won't have a chance to show off for him, Breseis," Bellatrix sneered, "You could have shown him all your stolen jewellery, for example."

Breseis locked eyes with her least favourite aunt.

"Bellatrix," she said, her voice even and her face blank, she was strangely more menacing that way, "I would suggest that you drop this subject and leave it alone, because I am telling you now, I will take you down. I haven't just spent fourteen years in Azkaban having my powers completely and utterly weakened. You wouldn't stand a chance against me. Now stop being so petty and keep your mouth shut."

Bellatrix hissed, her eyes fixed on the onyx ring in a mad hawk like manner.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that you insolent little child," Bellatrix whispered hoarsely, reaching for her wand and Breseis mimicked her action. In seconds both were standing up, wands pointed at each other, the same ugly grimace painted on both their faces.

"Protego!" Lucius roared, launching an invisible shield between the two witches, "Enough!"

Neither took their eyes off the other.

"It's Christmas Day, this is not the time for stupid arguments," Lucius said, waiting for one of them to give up and sit down, "Put your wands away!"

Breseis grudgingly stored her wand back up her sleeve and sat herself back down with composure, aware that she now looked the more civilised. Bellatrix leaned into her.

"You don't deserve to wear that Mark on your arm," she hissed, "And one day the Dark Lord will see that. I'm only upset that it won't be me who finishes you off."

"Bella!" Lucius shouted and his sister-in-law flicked her untamed hair out of her face and sat down, her chin thrust out in defiance.

Breseis drained her goblet of mead before standing up again.

"Excuse me," she said, smiling meekly at Narcissa who was white faced from watching the encounter. At the door she turned back to see her father staring with indifference at Bellatrix, puffing on his pipe.

She left the room and ascended the stairs, entering her suite and shivering. She lit a fire and went to her bedside table to retrieve her mother's Christmas present to her: a book entitled _Advanced Vanity Charms_. She dropped the book on the arm chair by the fire before raking through her trunk for her sweatpants, snow boots and the Slytherin Quidditch hoody she had stolen from Draco a few weeks previously, when her silk dressing gown hadn't been thick enough to shield her from the cold corridors on her return journey to her dormitory. She discarded her elegant, satin robes on the floor and curled up in her comfortable clothes in the armchair by the fire, contently flicking through the pages of her new book. Bellatrix's threat was already forgotten and Christmas Day was in the back of her mind.

It was some time later when the knock at her door came. She looked up from her book in confusion, too far immersed in it to be truly sure she had heard something. There was a second knock.

"Breseis?" She recognised that voice. Her favourite. "Breseis, are you there?"

She quickly closed her book and smoothed her hands over her hair before making for the door. She opened it shakily and wasn't quite sure what the emotion she was feeling was when she saw Draco's face. Pointed, angular and pale, surrounded by that white blonde hair. And his eyes, his ice blue eyes.

"Can I help you?" she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper, her eyes locked on his.

"Um… yes," he replied, dragging his own eyes away and looking into her warm, dark room, "Can I come in?"

She stepped aside, vaguely embarrassed by the robes littering the floor. He walked into the centre of the room and looked around. He was sure he had been in this room all of once in his entire life. He could remember, more than ten years ago, a game of hide and seek. He had rushed into the room and quickly looked around. Bed, chair, dressing table, wardrobe, door to en suite bathroom- wardrobe! Of course, he could hide in the wardrobe.

He hurried across to it, flinging the doors open to find a load of dusty old dress robes. The dust made him cough a bit as he clambered in. It rained on him, sticking to his clothes and his hair and getting in his throat and up his nose. He was unaware that he had left the bedroom door wide open behind him until he heard running footsteps entering the room and short, childish pants.

"Draco!" she called, "Draco I know you're in here!"

He stayed very still, barely allowing himself to breath. There was a tickle in his nose. NO! No, no, no! He was going to sneeze. Oh Merlin's pants! If he sneezed now he would give away his hiding place for sure. He heard her stamp her foot.

"Draco, come out now!" she cried, "This counts as me finding you."

He heard her stamp her foot again and give a frustrated little growl. She really hated when she was losing, and had a right nasty little temper on her. He had to suppress a giggle, and the process made him lose his focus vis-à-vis the sneeze. It was loud and he could practically hear her head turn around to face the wardrobe as it happened. Damn.

The cupboard doors opened and her face popped in with the light.

"Haha, found you! I win!" she smiled widely, "Bet you can't find me this time, Draco, start counting now, and don't peek!"

She had run out of the room as fast as her little legs could carry her, giggling all the way.

No longer wanting to play, he cried after her, "Breseis!"

He had long forgotten the times before Breseis had moved to Russia with her mother and her mother's new husband. After all he'd only been about 7 when they left. It was odd the way being back in this room made him remember something so insignificant as a childhood game of hide and seek. He looked into the grown up Breseis's eyes and smiled slightly.

"I never got a chance to give you your Christmas present," he said, holding out a small parcel wrapped in thick, dark green paper. She smiled and took it from him. "I know that green's your favourite," he added.

She delicately unwrapped the parcel, taking a small black velvet box from the paper. She looked up at him and he nodded in encouragement. A little gingerly, she lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a delicate white-gold chain with a large opal pendant hanging from it. It was beautiful. Simple, but beautiful. She carefully lifted it out of the box and held it up to see it better. She was sure she had never loved a gift so much in her entire life.

Draco opened his mouth to say something but he never got the chance. In an instant Breseis dropped the necklace's box and the wrapping paper on the floor, while keeping a tight hold on her chain, she closed the space in between her and Draco in two long strides. She did it without really thinking, a reflex. She threw her arms around his neck and without so much as a millisecond of hesitation she pressed her lips onto his. Her body fitted seamlessly into his arms, and his hands clasped her back as she wound her fingers into his hair. And the kiss, the kiss was wonderful. Neither soft nor hard, but perfect. Their lips moved in synchrony, as if this was what they were meant for. The rest of the world melted away. There was only Draco and Breseis.

* * *

Down stairs the three other Lestranges sat in the parlour. Rodolphos sat smoking his pipe and swaying absentmindedly to the background music of the wireless. He was completely ignoring the dispute going on in front of the fire. His wife leaning menacingly into his brother, whose face was on fire with anger.

"How dare you threaten her, Bella! She has done nothing to you!" he barked at her, "It is not your place to discipline her."

"She is the daughter of a whore, and she has no right to the name of Lestrange," Bellatrix spat back, "I spoke not threats, but the truth. The Dark Lord will find out that she is nothing more than the untalented daughter that mad slut and you will fall right out of favour once more, Rabastan."

"Breseis is worth ten of you!"

"You don't really believe that," Bellatrix scoffed, "You don't really love the girl. She is nothing but a possession to you, a little trinket for you to parade around, show off. A little trophy of your ridiculous marriage to a women who never really loved you."

"_That _is a lie!"

"It is not, and what's more you know it. It'll surface soon enough, Rabastan. You're time to prove that you don't really love your daughter will come," she rolled her eyes before a malicious glint surfaced in them, "And then you will lose her, just like I said at dinner. Neither of you can go on pretending forever."

* * *

**As usual, reviews are received with lots of love!  
Next time: no more rewrites, this is the real deal, a PROPER update : )**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** Sorry it's been so long! This chapter had some serious teething problems and is _far_ from perfect, but I honestly couldn't bare to look at it any more. Lots of drama today! Just the way I like things.

Enjoy my first actual update since before the beginning of the rewrite!

DandylionX

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Two**

Breseis unwound her fingers from Draco's hair and released his lips from her own. Her hands slunk around his neck and down onto his chest, where she rested them beside her forehead as she breathed heavily. Draco bowed his head and pressed his lips into her hair, smelling that lovely jasmine scent that he loved about her. After a few moments she leaned back from him, and looked up into his eyes, smiling. There was nothing left to do but smile.

He brushed two fingers down her cheek to her jaw, slowly, sensually. From their he trailed them down her neck where she met them with her hand, lifted them to her lips and kissed them. She then walked over to her bedside table and rummaged in the drawer for a few moments before resurfacing with a long black box in her hands.

"I have a gift for you, too," she told him, "It's not nearly as lovely as what you have given me, but…well, I just hope that you like it."

She pressed the box into his hands and smiled at him. He took it lifted the lid to reveal a watch with a black leather strap. Simple, much like her chain, but lovely. It was something that he would wear. Something which looked expensive but wasn't too over the top. Part of the style that he had accidentally developed of late: understated wealth.

"Thank you," he told her sincerely, "I love it."

She smiled a little nervously.

"I noticed that you don't wear one, and I thought, seen as I missed your seventeenth, it would be an appropriate present," she told him, "I'm glad you like it."

He leaned down and kissed her again, and loved the way it was so easy. Like the rest of the world has just disappeared. No hesitation, no objection. Just a kiss.

"It's quite late, I should let you get to bed," he told her, taking her hand and leading her to the door with him before kissing her again.

"We're going to be okay you know, Draco," she murmured to him, "I think we can get through anything together, you and me."

"Anything," he whispered in reply, kissing her one last time.

He made to leave but she kept hold of his hand. He turned back to her and she shook her head, tugging him slowly back into the room. Reaching up on her tip toes she pressed her lips to his once more, swinging the bedroom door shut. He wasn't going anywhere tonight.

* * *

The following days brought with it news of the reappearance of the elusive Harry Potter. Once again he had thwarted the Dark Lord, mere moments before defeat. Needless to say the mood in Malfoy Manor was extremely strained. Tense jaws and rigid backs were customary of the residents as they waited for the inevitable visit of Voldemort. All, that is, except two.

Draco and Breseis seemed to be drifting along in a new world of calm, spending hours happily staring into each other's eyes. They went ice skating on the thick sheet of frost that had frozen over the lake; they curled up in an armchair and flicked through Breseis's new Charms book; they lay for hours in bed counting the little cracks in the ceiling, blissfully unaware of the fact there were other people in the world. Barely a moment passed when one or the other didn't have a dopey grin plastered over their face. The calm before the storm.

The holidays slipped by and before long Breseis and Draco were being kissed goodbye by Narcissa at the door of Malfoy Manor. Breseis peered over her aunt's bony shoulder in search of her father. He was nowhere to be seen.

"He left already," Narcissa told her, rubbing her arm gently, "He and your Uncle Rodolphos had to meet someone in Hogsmeade."

"Did he leave a message?" Breseis asked, her expression seemingly blank but Draco recognised the small, sharp glint of hurt in her eyes.

"Sorry," Narcissa said, shaking her head slowly, "I'll tell him you send your love."

Breseis nodded and turned away from the house, her trunk floating behind her. She could hear Draco following, his feet crunching on the snow. He fell into step with her quickly, his long, lean legs slowing at her side to match her pace. It was a long walk down the path, but it seemed to pass quickly once their gloved fingers entwined and they were once more lost to their secret lovers' world.

Breseis waved her left arm at the wrought iron gate and it swung open, squeaking after the heavy and consistent snowfall. Draco made to step away from the grounds, his sharp features softened with his new contentment, but something in Breseis's face stopped him.

"Breseis?"

She shook his head and he moved to her side, lifting her chin up so that he could look into her lovely eyes.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I feel…strange," she admitted, feeling another twist of dread in her gut, "as if something is going to go wrong."

"It isn't," he told her firmly.

"I think…" she looked away from him, "I think we might be damned, Draco. Or at least, I think I might be damned."

"I thought we were past this, Breseis," he sighed with frustration, "I thought we'd moved on."

"So did I-"

"Then let's just make our peace with it. We can't always please everybody." She nodded at his words and took his hand again.

Together they twisted into the freezing air and disappeared with a small pop, soon to discover that Breseis was right.

* * *

Breseis staggered down the train, her cloak drawn tightly around her waif's figure, shielding hers from the slicing cold. Her skin was peppered with goose bumps and tiny shivers scurried up and down her spine. She had only just left Professor Slughorn's warm and homely carriage, where she had eaten leftover Turkey and mince pies and sipped at a glass of finest elf-made mead. It had been like a substitute for her horrid Christmas, even with the presence of Neville Longbottom, who now hated her more than ever, and Blaise, who constantly leered at her. They had been summoned almost as soon as the train had set off and so Draco had been left to deal with Pansy alone. Breseis flinched slightly at the thought and a dry heat burned at the back of her throat, but she grudgingly acknowledged that Draco was right; she couldn't always please everyone.

"Breseis!" she recognised the voice coming from behind her, and kept walking, "Breseis!"

She increased the speed of her unsure step as the train hurtled through the January blizzard, desperate to avoid the speaker. The desperation didn't couple well with her ungainly step and it was a mere few steps before she tripped over her feet and collapsed against a compartment door. Foreign hands scooped her up and she turned to meet the gaze of Blaise Zabini.

"Are you alright?" he enquired, taking he opportunity to run his eyes down her form.

"Yes, thank you," she replied contritely, pulling her cloak tighter still.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Blaise asked, his eyes lingering lower than her face.

"Yes, thank you."

"Oh, what's wrong Breseis?" Blaise asked, looking at her stony face now, "I thought that we were…getting along."

"Yes, well evidently you were mistaken," Breseis replied, "excuse me."

She flounced off down the corridor, taking advantage of the brief lull in shaking and didn't breath until she was opening the door to her carriage. It was short lived. As soon as the scene inside met her disbelieving eyes, the air was once more cut off from her lungs.

Pansy sat sobbing mercilessly into Draco's chest. His shirt was stained with her tears and she gripped at the wet fabric. Worse still, Draco was comforting her. He stroked her hair and back and shushed her like a little baby, swaddled in blankets. Breseis stared at them incredulously, failing to see any reason why Pansy would still want to be in Draco's company, let alone clinging to him for dear life. He was supposed to have been breaking up with her, breaking the news of his new relationship with Breseis. Draco looked up as Breseis closed the carriage door with somewhat of a slam.

He looked as though he was trying to say something but his words were stuck in his throat.

"Is something the matter?" Breseis asked in monotone, her expression smoothing over into unreadable in the blink of an eye.

"Pansy's got some bad news," Draco told her, trying to communicate something more with his eyes. Breseis cast her eyes away from his face, not caring for any subtext.

"Oh?" she said, looking at Pansy's shaking form, "Is that right, Pansy?"

Pansy sniffled and, with obvious strain, looked up from Draco's chest and nodded.

"Y-y-yes," she managed to stammer, "My…my..my f-father-"

And then she once more broke down in tears and hid her face in Draco's shirt. Breseis looked back at Draco's face, one eyebrow lifted questioningly.

"Her father was arrested," Draco finished Pansy's sentence. Breseis's expression remained blank. "Supposedly he was forging family trees for Mudbloods."

"Muggle-borns," Breseis corrected him, a touch of spite lacing her words, "use civil language, please."

Draco once more tried to communicate with his eyes, and Breseis once more turned away.

"I was wondering, Pansy, if I could borrow Draco for just a moment?" Breseis asked, "You have my sympathies," she added.

Pansy nodded and Draco extricated the distraught girl from his sodden wet body. Breseis slid the carriage door open just as Blaise was approaching, and shut it, again with some force, behind him. Draco made to speak but Breseis silenced him with a look. They walked together further down the corridor, Draco following Breseis's lead.

"I thought," she began, stopping abruptly, "the idea was that you were going to break-up with _her_," Breseis said, glowering back in the direction of their compartment.

"It was-"

"Then, if you don't mind, please explain why on earth you appear to be doing exactly the opposite," Breseis crossed her arms across her middle and mimicked a look of patience so sardonic it almost hurt. It was suddenly striking her just how much Draco's relationship with Pansy bothered her.

"She's grief-stricken, Breseis, and I'm not heartless!" Draco exclaimed, "She came in after you went off with _Blaise_," Breseis rolled her eyes, "and she was in floods of tears. She threw herself at me. It took half an hour for me to get the full story out of her and I just couldn't do it after that."

Breseis didn't look convinced.

"I know what it's like to have my father thrown into that vile prison," Draco said, his tone defensive, "I know what she's going through."

"As, might I add, do I, Draco," Breseis shot back.

"Breseis, your situation is not quite the same."

"How so?"

"It just isn't."

"Rabastan is my father, is he not?" she asked, rage brewing slowly but surely in her eyes.

"Well, yes-"

"And he was sent to Azkaban?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then it is the same," she concluded, "Do not under-estimate the bond I feel to that man, Draco. Everything I do and have ever done is to please him. Take that into consideration the next time you decide to patronise me."

"Breseis-"

"Listen to me," she cut him off again, "I refuse to be the other woman. I am not comfortable with inflicting this sort of pain on that girl, but you are right, and have been right all along, it is more cruel to keep her in the dark. If you want me, you will walk in there right now. If you don't, then you lose me."

"But-"

"It's that simple Draco," her lip quivered slightly as she spoke now, betraying her emotionless expression.

Draco looked at her, his heart breaking beneath his ribs. He reached out his hand and rested it on her cold cheek. She closed her eyes and a single tear dripped from the corner of her eye down to his fingers. She already knew what he was going to say.

"I can't do it to her, Breseis, not today," he said, "It's too cruel."

She moved her face away from his hand and nodded.

"Breseis, it's not that I don't lo-"

"We've spoken enough for today, I think," she spoke, looking over his shoulder and avoiding his gaze, "I'll wait for you, Draco. As long as you're with her, I am nothing but your friend. But, God knows, I'll wait for you."

"Good," he replied, his own eyes stinging now, "good."

"But not forever."

And with that she walked past him and back into their compartment. Her heart was heavy in her chest and she could hear one word ringing over and over in her cold ears:

_Damned_.

* * *

As usual, reviews are received with love. Particularly ones which mention Rabastan wearing hotpants! Priceless!


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **This chapter actually took very little time to write, considering its length. It was written to the glorious sounds of N-Dubz and Pendulum (when my *cough* stolen wireless wasn't crashing out and ruining the spotify goodness.)

Anyway, enjoy. I will try to update at least once- but hopefully twice, or even three times- more before I disappear off to Greece for two weeks.

Dandylion05 x

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**Chapter Twenty-Three**

The Great Hall was full to bursting with students. It was seven pm, the height of dinner time, and hundreds of black robed students were simultaneously eating, gossiping and moaning. There was no stillness, instead the room was alive with movement, fidgeting,the steady, fast journey of fork from plate to mouth and back again. People were getting up to leave, coming in and slumping into seats, scurrying around looking for their friends, passing newspapers and borrowed essays about. And in the midst of it all sat Breseis, concentrating deeply on her Charms textbook and picking up only flecks of conversations, still as a rock in the breaking waves.

By her side was the latest in a series of ignored letters from her mother, its wax seal still intact, and her untouched dinner, which Crabbe was eyeing greedily.

"Lestrange, are you going to-" he began.

"Yes," she cut him off in a tone of supreme finality.

"But-" she held up her hand in a gesture satiated with authority and the boy immediatley stopped and crossed his arms across his chest childishly.

Breseis still didn't touch her dinner, and instead turned the page of her text book and tucked a few rouge curls back behind her ear.

Across the table Draco observed her carefully. She had greeted Pansy and he cordially when they had arrived at dinner- as she had done ever night for the past two or three weeks- and even smiled in what Draco knew she imagined was a pleasant way- as she had done every night for the past two or three weeks- and then turned her attention back to her book or newspaper or essay. She wasn't being rude or blunt but she seemed so cold. There was none of the closeness, the intimacy they had shared over Christmas left. She might as well have been a complete stranger.

At night, Draco lay awake for hours, until he couldn't physically keep his eyes open any longer, waiting for her. But she never snuck out of her dorm and into his. She never climbed under the covers and let him mould himself to the discrete curves of her body. He never shivered at the feel of her prominent bones beneath his finger tips. A couple of nights, out of pure curiosity, he had crept into the common room and waited for her on the sofa in front of the fire, but she had been a no show. He couldn't understand how she could just shut off her feelings for him like that.

It struck Draco then that he and Breseis had never actually declared their supposed feelings for each other. They had kissed at Christmas and then... But they, he had just taken it for granted that they were in love. He had never actually thought it necessary to proclaim the exact details of his feelings, he had more or less taken it as a given and he had tried enough times already. And Breseis hadn't exactly volunteered to go first.

_What if that meant she didn't love him? _he asked himself, and was hit by a new plague of insecurities.

Across the table, the exact same worries were repeating themselves over and over in Breseis's mind.

Draco dropped his fork into his mashed potatoes and stood up. Within another moment he was marching out of the Great Hall, his blonde head disappearing amidst the sea of black robes. Pansy sprang like a coil from her seat and ran after him, her whiney voice carrying back to the Slytherin table.

"Draco, Draco, where are you going? Are you alright? Hey-Draco, Draco, wait for me!"

Breseis picked up her fork then and speared a green bean violently before placing in between her lips. Crabbe watched her plate of shepherds pie enviously as she ate only half her food, mostly the vegetables, and then dropped her fork and knife back on the plate.

"Are you not going to finish it?" Crabbe sounded hopeful.

"It's cold," she replied.

"Couldn't you re-heat it? It still looks good to me," she raised a thin eyebrow at him as she put her textbook back into her bag.

"No," she replied with distaste, "Go and find Draco, he's on duty tonight."

"But-"

"That was an order," she barked.

Blaise watched Breseis carefully as Crabbe left the table, an amused expression playing on his lips. She regarded him icily before leaving the Hall, her thin frame easing lithely through gaps in the crowd. She made her way slowly through the cold corridors, her Slytherin scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, and began to descend the stairs to the dungeons. The rivotting scream of a young child met her ears with some force as she walked in the opposite direction from the Common Room, towards the old cells.

"Oh dear, does that hurt?" She could hear Alecto Carrow goading, "There, there, I'll make it better. _Crucio!_"

There was another horrific scream followed by a vile cackle. Breseis pushed open the door and looked blankly around the room full of chained up children, several of whom were unconcious.

"About bleeding time," Amicus snapped at her from where he stood brandishing a knife at a boy from Breseis's year, "I'm starving. What the 'ell kept you?"

Breseis said nothing and merely raised one eyebrow at the dirty knife. Alecto didn't much like that.

"Don't look at 'im like that!" she cried, "Just because your father is in some ammount of-of _favour_ right now doesn't mean _you_ can look at 'im like that. We is your superiors, and you better remember it, girl!"

"Are you going for your dinner or am I free to go?" Breseis asked tonelessly.

"Of course you ain't free to go, this is your gig!" Alecto cried, "Where's Malfoy Junior any road?"

"On his way, I believe," Breseis's face darkened.

"What, trouble in paradise, is it?" Alecto mocked, "Shame that."

"I thought you were going," Breseis reminded the squat, older witch as she cackled and her brother grabbed her and dragged her out the door.

Breseis moved to the seat at the other side ofthe room and pulled out her charms textbook once more. She ignored the pained groans and whimpers coming from all around her, and the sobs of the littler prisoners, and opened the book at where she had left off. The un-opened letter from her mother marked the page and she impatiently knocked it to the ground. She had no inclination to read the damn thing.

She heard the old door squeak open and knew that Draco had arrived, but didn't look up. Instead she focused as much of her attention as humanly possible on the passage she was reading about healing cursed wounds. She had become very good at ignoring Draco these past couple of weeks, it was the only way to stop herself from losing her mind. She feared that if she spent to much time with him, speaking to him and accidently touching him, sleeping in his warm and inviting bed, she would breakdown at the fact he wasn't her's-yet.

Yet was the key word. This was only a temporary situation, Draco had said so himself. It was just until Pansy recovered enough that another blow wouldn't send her flying over the edge. Breseis couldn't help bitterly thinking that her own mental health was more at stake than Pansy's, but soon she would have everything she wanted. She was one of the servants of the Dark Lord, her father appeared to be accepting her, loving her, even- she had decided it wasn't necessarily his fault that he wasn't there to say goodbye to her in person at the end of the holidays- and she would soon have Draco. She was only a short time away from bliss.

"What time will they be here?" Draco asked, forcing her to look up.

"Eight," she replied, casting her eyes immediatly downward.

"And it's our class tonight?" she knew he already knew this, but her heart skipped a little beat as she realised he was just playing dumb to keep speaking with her.

"Yes, our class," she confirmed, deciding it was best just not to look up this time.

"Don't you think the Inquistorial Squad should have to do this?" he asked, dropping into the seat next to Breseis. Her back stiffened at how close they were.

"I know it's tedious," she said, glancing sideways at him, "but these..._children_ are prisoners. We can't afford to have their punishment supervised by amateurs."

"It's sort of blowing our cover, though, isn't it?" Draco huffed.

"You didn't have any cover," Breseid pointed out, "And mine was...flimsy at best. Anyway at least this way we don't actually have to participate. I spent the day projectile vomiting the last time I had to Cruciate someone, and that someone was only a boggart!"

She gave a tiny bitter laugh while acknowledging that it wasn't funny in the slightest. She was reminded of the weeks of terrifying, too real nightmares she had been subjected to after that night and in the middle of something between a shudder and a shiver she realised that even though she had been sleeping alone for days on end now, she hadn't actually had a nightmare at all. She chewed on her lip as she contemplated how odd that was.

"So..." Draco started to speak once more, "how have you been? We haven't really had the chance to talk in a while...even though we're here together every night."

"Yes, well talking is difficult when you're busy," Breseis ignored his initial question.

"You didn't answer me," Draco pressed, "how have you been?"

"Great, thank you," she replied mildly, flicking the page of her book and concentrating on a particuarly complicated diagram.

"Breseis," Draco sighed, "Why won't you look at me?"

She looked up into his eyes then, in a move that was meant to be defiant, and stared deep into their ice blue depths. Her heartrate quickened, and her chest began to heave as she breathed. He was leaning into her, his lips slightly parted. They looked moist and cushiony and-and perfect! She reached up a hand and grabbed the back of his neck, her fingers winding into the roots of his sleek, white-blonde hair and she closed her eyes and waited for the feel of his lips on her's, and the sense of complete and utter safety which that brought with it.

But before his mouth met her's, the door swung open and Draco jumped to the otherside of the cell in record speed. Breseis opened her eyes and let the few hairs which had remained in her grasp fall to the floor. She watched her Dark Arts class file into the room and took in their mixed expressions. Some looked blank, refusing to show any emotion, others had a greedy glint in their eye, a grotesque grin on their faces, but most looked horrified at the injuries of the prisoners, particuarly the very young, or those of their friends'. Lavender Brown let out something between a gasp and a squeal of horror as her eyes met the limp form of Neville Longbottom.

"So we have to-" a sandy haired Irish boy named Seamus began.

"-practice for the mock-exam next week," Breseis finished for him, her tone once more blank, but her face still somewhat flustered.

Seamus nodded.

"And you-"

"I am under orders to report back to the Carrows," she told him, "Those who do not participate will earn a detention themselves."

She gestured to the various chained students. Seamus nodded again. Breseis turned back to her book, trying to avoid seeing Pansy wave flirtatiously at Draco,while at the same time noting the total inappropriacy of the action in the current situation.

"Right," Seamus said, addressing the class and assuming authority, "None of us want to do this," he paused and looked at the expressions worn by Crabbe and Goyle, "well, most of us don't want to do this, but none of us want to end up on detention either. Fortunately, most of us aren't very good at these curses, so I suggest we aim them at the older students. We won't inflict much damage- nothing worse than a Quidditch injury."

Breseis heard a girl sob and looked up to see Seamus move over to Lavender and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. Her lip quivered. She didn't particuarly like watching this night after night after never ending night. She didn't particuarly like watching unwilling students attempt to torture their friends, their brothers and sisters. Why couldn't Draco, just once, be allowed to comfort her? She looked towards Pansy, who was completely ignoring Seamus's pep talk and instead twirling her hair and fluttering her eyelashes at Draco. If it was possible, she looked more idiotic that usual.

People started to move, assembling themselves around students from the upper-school. Pansy followed them, her eyes still on Draco. Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore Nott chose three younger students to torment, openly defying Seamus's suggestion.

Sighing heavily Breseis watched the majority of the students mumble apologies before aiming a pathetic curse at the prisoner. When it came to Lavender's turn she broke down in tears and wailed that she couldn't do it- it was just wrong. Seamus pulled her into his chest and let her cry all over his robes.

"Are you sure?" he asked her, "You'll be sent down here."

"I don't care!" she cried in between sobs, "It's too sick, I can't do it!"

The pair of them, instead, stood at the side and orchestrated the event. Had Lavender not refused to participate, Breseis wondered if she would have noticed that Seamus wasn't either. Neither of them aimed a curse the whole evening.

By ten'o clock the only people still cursing were Crabbe and Nott, who were gaining obvious pleasure from the occasion. _Bellatrix would love them_, Breseis thought acidly to herself. Everyone else had collapsed into groups on the floor and sat exchanging horrified and sickened glances.

Lavender got up and made to leave the room.

"Where is she going?" Breseis snapped, she was always at her most irritable supervising detention, "The Carrows haven't arrived to dismiss you yet."

"She's going to get some potions to clean up some of the wounds," Seamus told her, gesturing to the gashes decorating the bodies of the chained students.

"Well she had better be fast, she's in enough trouble as it is," Breseis told him, her gaze fierce with implications.

"So you're going to report her to the Carrows?" he asked.

"Of course I am," she replied as if it were obvious, "I warned you when you first arrived of the consequences of non-participation."

"I know, but Jesus, Breseis, she was going to be sick if she had to do it!" he was getting angry, and that irritated her more than anything, "Surely you of all people can appreciate that!"

"Rules are rules," she told him, "I'm not about to compromise my position by lying to the deputy heads!"

"Your _superiors_, you mean!" he cried, "You know, I thought you might have been a bit different from the rest of the Slytherin scum! I felt sorry for you when they made you Cruciate that Boggart, and I thought that they might have been forcing your hand when you helped kidnap Luna- you were so quick to cover your tracks in a world now run by Death Eaters, but now I see that Neville and Ginny are right. You're nothing but a Death Eater slag like the rest of them!"

"I wouldn't go making accusations you can't back up," she warned him, "Now hold your tongue and resign yourself to you and your little girlfriend's fate."

Lavender hurried back in the room carrying three bottles of potion and a bowl with a cloth inside. Breseis stood up and snatched them from her, hearing Alecto's cackle coming from down the hall.

"Get up!" she snapped at everyone else, patting her robes and composing herself as the Carrows walked through the open door.

"Alright, kiddies, off you go," Amicus sneered, "And you better all pass your exam!"

Draco moved to Breseis's side as the class began to file out of the cell. He pulled at her elbow.

"Maybe we shouldn't tell them about Lavender," he whispered, "She tried and she couldn't do it."

"She didn't participate, Draco," Breseis said with finality, "She knew the score. And since when did you get so...compassionate?"

"But-"

"This isn't up for discussion Draco," she snapped as the Carrows walked over to her.

"So?" Amicus asked, addressing Breseis and all but ignoring Draco, though it was supposedly a joint duty.

"Everyone complied, except Seamus and Lavender," Breseis told him.

"Lavender tried, but she was too upset," Draco added.

"So?" Alecto sneered, "No prizes for being a baby! We'll deal with them, Lestrange."

She had obviously forgotten their little spat earlier. The Carrows made to leave the room, regarding Draco like a piece of dirt before trudging out the door. Pansy was waiting outside the cell, gazing intently at Draco.

"Is it alright if I-"

"Yes, go!" Breseis snapped and turned away so she didn't have to watch him leave and take Pansy's hand and see him gently kiss her cheek. Once the sounds of their footsteps faded she slammed the cell door with as much force as she could muster. God, he could make her so angry sometimes!

She turned her attention to the bowl and the potions she had dropped on her seat. She walked over and knelt in front of the rickety chair and focused on filling the bowl with the right ratio of each to simultaneously kill pain, disinfect, and boost the healing process.

She started with the little first years, dabbing at their wounds carefully with her concoction of potions. Once she was sure their wounds were clean she took out her wand and carefully cleaned their hair and mended their robes. She undid their chains, then, knowing that the Carrows usually let people out of detention after two days, and held their hair out of their faces as they were sick. With a flick of her wand the floor was cleaner than in had been in years, and she had become accustomed to vomit over recent months, vile as it was.

She turned from cleaning the floor to the face of Neville Longbottom. He was in a bad way and had obviously been somewhat savaged by Amicus' dirty knife. She'd been working steadily for about an hour and only a few students now remained. She dabbed her cloth into the bowl of potion and reached for his face, but he struggled to avoid her touch. She ignored his resistance and persisted, standing on the balls of her feet trying to reach.

"Leave me alone," he said hoarsely, through gritted teeth, "I don't want your help."

"Your cuts might be infected," she told him, "I need to apply some anti-septic."

She reached again and he struggled to avoid her still.

"It will also help with the pain," she added mildly, and his struggling became less determined.

Within moments she had gotten hold of his head and was applying the potion. Neville slumped, giving in, and let her go about cleaning his wounds. When she started to mend his robes he began to struggle again.

"Oh, what now?" she asked irriatedly.

"I'll do that myself," he muttered, "Don't need your help."

She shrugged and unbound him, then moved on to the last three students who weren't in nearly such a bad way. They were quickly tidied up and set free, scurrying as quickly as possible from the cell. Breseis cleaned the bowl and the cloth and turned around to get her things and return to the common room but she stopped in her tracks. Neville Longbottom stood in front of her, his robes still ripped, blood still matted in his hair.

"Why did you help them?" he asked her.

"Because they were injured," she shrugged, dropping the bowl into her bag and stowing away her charms book.

"Most Death Eaters wouldn't give a crap about that," Neville said with distaste.

"Whoever said I was a Death Eater?" she asked mildly, patting her curls and robes.

"Don't act all innocent, I know that you're one of them," he said.

"Why are you still here?" she changed the subject.

"I'm not going back to the common room til I'm sure everyone is asleep," he told her.

"Why not?"

"Well, several of them had to attack me tonight," he shrugged, "It will make them too uncomfortable if I just walk back in. I'll give them some time to come to terms with it, I think."

Breseis nodded, respecting his kindness even as she saw it as a weakness. As she thought about it, she realised she would much rather stay in the grotty cell than face The Draco and Pansy Show in the Common Room and sat down on the half-broken, old chair. She crossed one leg over the other and looked down at her hands.

"I thought you were leaving," Longbottom said.

"I think I'd rather wait until...everyone was asleep as well," she said, trying not to picture Draco's inviting four poster bed.

The pair of unlikely companions sat in silence for some time. They contemplated their opposite walls and their opposite views and, strangely, found a certain sort of peace in the silent company. For the first time in weeks Breseis's head was silent. The constant hustle and bustle of thoughts streaming through her head had stopped and she felt like she could breath. She exhaled deeply and leant her head back against the cool stone walls.

With a start she jumped up, her jaw quivering. The feel of cool stone, reminiscent of a distant, nightmarish stairwell, sent distress signals through her entire body and her stomach heaved. She reached to cover her mouth with her hand but was too late. She vomited onto the floor, her hair falling into the stream, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Once there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up, she backed away from the vile puddle and collapsed onto the floor. Her face was colourless, her eyes glazed over. In her mind her old nightmares played on repeat.

"Breseis?" Neville said her name and she looked up, dazed, "Are you, em, alright?"

It was clearly hard for him to be considerate to her, and she doubted his sincerity. She nodded, not wishing to divulge information that he couldn't care less about.

"Are you a compulsive liar?" he asked.

"No," she replied, not entirely sure that that was the truth.

"You were just sick everyplace and you look like you've died," he pointed out, "I wouldn't say that you look alright."

"Then why did you ask?" she replied tartly.

"Because that's what you do when someone's ill." She managed to roll her eyes at his words. "So come on then, what made you throw up? One minute you're sitting there quite the thing, looking all sleepy, and the next you're bringing your dinner back up."

"Why do you care?" she asked.

"I don't," he shrugged, "I'm just vaugely curious as to what turns a Death Eater's stomach, especially one with your genes."

"Genes aren't everything, and for the last time, I'm _not _ a Death Eater!" she groaned.

"Yes you are," Neville insisted, "Though you're the first Death Eater I've encountered who doesn't openly admit their devotion to the Dark Lord."

"Well it comes with all sorts of prejudices," she snapped, flinching at the sharpness of her own voice.

"You're a bit weird for a Death Eater really," Neville mused, "You seem like a total cow, and you participate in all sorts of Death Eater-y things, but you cleaned up all those students just now, and before that you weren't bullying people into cursing us lot on detention, like the Carrows do when they're supervising, ] and, weirdly considering your family, you seem to take absolutely no pleasure in torturing people."

"Thank you for the analysis," she said cynically, "But I think you'll find that, just like any group of people, all Death Eaters are a bit different."

"I don't think you really enjoy being a Death Eater," Neville told her, "I think there's some reason that you joined, some weird, obscure, psychological reason. You're obviously screwed up." He gestured to the puddle of sick, "You're going to live to regret your decision, that's what I think. Hopefully you won't commit any heinous crime before that, for the sake of both the victims and their families- and maybe even for your sake. But here, do me a favour, if you are really evil, and do something to show that to the entire world, have the decency to murder your victims. It's far kinder."

Breseis stared at him gobsmacked. Any smart comeback she could have retorted with was lost as she stared at him. She didn't believe a word of what he said- she wanted to serve the Dark Lord with all her heart, she was fascinated by him. But his last words hit her square in the chest. She had never truly considered the implications of her father's crime. To her it had only ever been an abstract thing. She had never thought of the hurt and pain it had caused, never thought of the desolate lives the Longbottoms must lead, never thought of the ripples of effects that one night could send through the years, twisting and contorting the future. To her horror a single tear slipped out of her eye and made its way down her cheek. Neville's eyes followed it right the way down to her jaw, where she slapped it away.

She got up then and marched straight to the door, only turning around to snarl;

"You are wrong, stupid boy, and I'll prove it to you."

--

**As usual reviews etc are received with love (and a thank you pm!)**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **Sorry for the second long wait, but I have a good excuse this time. I was on holiday in a land (/hotel) of no internet! See, I couldn't have updated. I've tried to make this one a bit exciting to compensate, but you'll have to get back to me on whether it's a triumph or a failure. Updates might be a bit slow for a while because I start uni in a few weeks and have lots of reading to do before I go (I know, poor me, what a hard life I lead...) and then I will be actually starting uni, and moving into my accommodation etc etc but hopefully I will get into the habit of updating nice and regularly again soon. I am desperate to finish A Touch of Evil before the end of the year so I'll be trying my best to churn the updates out. Okay, essay over, on with the story:

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

The previous October, on a night that neither Breseis nor Draco thought terribly remarkable, something happened, which would set a string of motions into occurrence; a string of motions which would utterly change everything.

It had been a typical evening of the time. Robed lavishly, as they always were, in dark cloths of silk, they had stowed away into the headmaster's office and disappeared to another office hundreds of miles away. To the sleep deprived students, it might as well have been the same room, for every bedless space merged into one entity in front of their drooping eyes. Breseis's robes of deep green reflected on her already sick and sallow complexion and she looked all the more ill. It was a month since she had slept properly- that is a sound sleep, un-tinged with cursed nightmares- and it was making her more irritable with every passing second.

Dead leaves flurried past the small, dark windows in the Prime Minister's office. They rode on the back of the malicious wind and rustled up against the window panes. The starless sky was a clear blue-black, broken only by the slither of remaining moon. Breseis fancied it looked like an inviting blanket, or an Egyptian cotton sheet. She sat at perfect ease in one the Prime Minister's plush leather chairs as he paced in front of the hearth, contemplating the smooth expanse of sky and blatantly ignoring every word that escaped the Prime Minister's quivering lips.

His paranoia had been reaching tonight's crescendo for some weeks now, building and building, slow and sure. Breseis had given up trying to reason with him, and Draco was struck with such crippling fear of his own- that they were failing at their delegated task and would face the wrath of the Dark Lord- that he was of little or no use in the ablation of another. Breseis hadn't the energy, or indeed the patience, to soothe either and instead had taken to using these late hours to partake in a sort of waking sleep, lapsing into a state of mind where thoughts ceased and mind rested. These were the sole moments of peace she had and she refused to let either of her companions spoil them.

These sessions with the Prime Minister were of a most private nature, and it was as though the Draco and Breseis of the Prime Minister's office were separate to the Draco and Breseis of the day. So separate that the normal Draco and Breseis kept their other selves concealed even from their own minds. At no point during the day did either truly contemplate the events, thoughts and words which occurred in London, in the small hours of the night, despite their infinite importance. It was their duty as Death Eaters, their orders straight from the tongue of the Dark Lord, to attend and counsel the Prime Minister, to groom him into trusting them, to win a place in his affections, so that, in time, it would be easier to take control of the whole country, and put the Muggles 'in their rightful place.'

"Executed correctly," the Dark Lord had spoken, "This could be the key to the Reformation. This man, this _Prime Minister_, could be convinced, and could convince others, that our leadership is the best thing to happen to Muggles in a long while. That is the ideal mindset to get them into. This task is of the most severe importance, and I am not entirely sure I am entrusting it to the right people, but so be it."

Breseis had a ridiculous amount of confidence about the whole operation. But then again, unlike Draco, she hadn't been tortured by the Dark Lord before. In any case her confidence prevented her from worrying or pondering over her duties, (and what's more, she had more pressing worries.) In the same way, Draco's fear was so all-consuming that he didn't dare to even briefly contemplate the trips to the capitol. He liked to live instead in a fantasy world where he wasn't a Death Eater, but in fact, just a plain and boring student.

Sometimes, in the midst of thinking over the tangled mess he seemed to be making of his young life- as he chose to spend these hours doing-, he would come to his relationship with Breseis and glance up at her expression, the same expression he thought he recognised from that first morning, all those months ago, when he had watched her staring out of the lake in the grounds of his home. He wondered if she was considering her life as well, regretting her mistakes, regretting the deep, black branding burned into the beautiful pale flesh of her arm. Little did he know that Breseis was unable to consider her own life, her past, her mistakes and failures, because she chose to ignore her own faults, erase them from her mind as if they were merely words written on a page and not real life events. Her only moments of contemplation seemed to happen when she rested her head on the cool bathroom tiles, and she was forced to consider how she got there.

Breseis's conscious rest was broken as the Prime Minister came and smacked his hands down on his cluttered desk. Breseis regarded the piles of disorganised papers and letters which littered the surface and idly thought that she and Draco weren't the only two with their minds on other things these days. She looked then into the Prime Minister's manic face and for the first time in days actually took it in, and her thoughts were immediately affirmed.

"Don't you see?" he exclaimed, sounding unbelievably frustrated, and Breseis got the sense that he had been shouting for some time now, "I am obviously a target, or your- your superiors wouldn't be bothering to pay a blind bit of notice of me, would they?"

Breseis let out an irritated little sigh, quite wishing she could tell the truth for once and in actual fact say "no, my 'superiors' have sent me here to slowly poison your mind against the Order of the Phoenix and their stupid poster boy, Harry Potter, so that you will eventually relinquish your power to us, even though we will then proceed to act in no way in the interests of your people."

Instead, as usual, she told him some carefully constructed lies.

"No, Prime Minister, you are not a target. Draco and I are merely here to keep up appearances, to make it seem as though we have people here, to let the...," she searched for the right words, "enemies know that you are under our surveillance. It keeps them...at bay. If you were in any real danger we would see to it that you got proper, guarded wizarding security."

"Real danger?" he cried, "real danger? What's that supposed to mean? Danger isn't one of those murky, gray areas in life; it is a black or white issue. One is either in danger, or one is safe! Real danger! It implies there is such a thing as _pretend_ danger!"

"Prime Minister-"

"I must have this proper security you speak of," he interrupted her, a dangerous action in its own right, "I won't stand for these-these...checkups anymore."

"Prime Minister!" it was Breseis's turn to exclaim, "These are hardly check-ups. Draco and I come here night after night, when we are far from at leisure to sleep through the morning and into the afternoon. We listen to your constant rants and try to ease your fears of things you don't understand. We have already protected this building against apparation, which, if you recall from our first meeting, is when a wizard can de-materialise from one place, and re-materialise in another, within some restrictions. The Floo network, again if you will recall our first meeting, is closed to this fireplace all but one channel, which feeds directly into _our_ place of residence. You are quite safe, sir, I assure you."

The Prime Minister regarded her for a few silent moments, and for an instance, Breseis thought that she had finally placated the beast. She was wrong.

"How old are you, Breseis?" he asked.

"That isn't really here nor there-"

"You can't possibly be more than maybe nineteen or twenty, perhaps even younger beneath those shadows under your eyes," his own eyes narrowed, "And young Drake there, how old is he?"

"Draco," Breseis corrected him automatically, "and we are both seventeen, sir."

"Seventeen?" the Prime Minister looked horrified, "_Seventeen!_"

Breseis pressed her eyes closed and began to count backwards from ten as the Prime Minister started on another rant. She didn't get past nine before something inside her head almost audibly snapped.

"Listen, please, because I will not say this again," she put her hands on the desk and pushed herself upstanding, "you cannot have any more security than you do now."

This was the truth, as so often comes out in moments of anger. Who could the Death Eaters send to guard a Muggle? They were an organisation founded on a hatred of Muggles. Draco and Breseis couldn't be ordered there anymore than they already were without the Death Eaters breaking their own laws. Anyone else sane or placate enough to be put into the Muggle world was already swamped with duties, and they were few and far between anyway. And the rest couldn't be trusted not to make a huge mess and ruin the carefully constructed plans for, what the Dark Lord was dubbing, the revolution. It would be like putting a toddler in a sweetie shop and telling him he had to sit there all day without even taking the smallest lick of sugary goodness: an impossibility.

"But I must!" the Prime Minister retorted.

Breseis thumped her hand on the desk in frustration. In a fit of irritation she shoved her hand deep into her robe pocket and grasped a handful of Floo powder. Spying an ornamental keepsake box on the mantelpiece she marched over and emptied the powder inside it.

"I have shown you the photo of Harry Potter, have I not?" she asked the Prime Minister, the veil of politeness gone without a trace now.

"Yes," he replied suspiciously.

"Should he ever appear here you are to empty the contents of this box into your hands and then drop it into the fire. The flames will turn green. You will promptly step inside, into the flames- which are harmless," she held up her bony hand to stop his protestations, "and you will clearly say the word 'Hogwarts.' Is that clear?"

"_Hogwarts?_" he looked incredulous.

"That's correct," she nodded, "Do not forget, else the powder will be wasted and you will most likely injure yourself. Remember it, and you shan't need any other protection, you will have a means of escape."

"And this, this Hogwarts, is it a password? Will some sort of secret door open to the secret passage which leads to your residence?" The Prime Minister was at her side now, sniffing a few grains of powder from the little box and wrinkling his nose.

"No," Breseis replied flatly, forever surprised by the limits of Muggle imagination, "it is the name of a school. Draco and I shall be on our way now."

Draco promptly stood up and made his way to her side.

"Was that not a bit of an idiotic idea?" he murmured through her thick curls into her ear.

"No," she replied in the same hushed tone, "If Potter ever does turn up here, we will know immediately and will be able to capture him."

She dug her hand back into her pocket and scooped up some more Floo powder, and then allowed Draco to do the same. She fancied, fleetingly, that his fingers lingered around her thigh just a moment or two too long. Within a couple of minutes they were back at Hogwarts and marching tiredly through the corridors, with a piece of parchment detailing permission from Snape to be out of their dormitories at so late an hour. Both had already forgotten the night's events, and neither had reason to recall them.

And so the months passed quietly, and eventually their visits to the Prime Minister ceased. Autumn turned to winter, the New Year began, and that one night frittered into obscurity.

But the chain was set into motion, and one day Breseis might trace it back to one moment of impatience and irritation, in a dark office in London.

* * *

"Breseis," Draco whispered, shaking her lightly, "Breseis wake up."

It was not long gone one 'o clock by Draco's watch. He was fully dressed and his hands were ink stained. His and Breseis's new duties overseeing the Carrows' heinous detentions were leaving him very little time to tend to his growing Everest of homework and he had still been writing a Potions essay up until about five minutes previously.

"Breseis."

She stirred, her eyes flickering delicately open and her chest rising high as she breathed the last deep breath of sleep. Her sight focused on Draco and in response her lips arced into a blissful smile. Outside the cold February wind wailed and the window panes shook and rattled vehemently, but as usual, when Draco and Breseis locked eyes all the noises of the world ceased to exist for them.

Draco lifted his hand to Breseis's face and gently stoked his thumb from her temple to her cheek and down the length of her strong jaw, never once moving his pale eyes from hers. He repeated the soothing motion and Breseis's eyes fell shut once more and she sounded a small sigh of contentment.

Leaning in further still, Draco whispered gently against her lips,

"I'm sorry I woke you, sweetheart."

And gentler still, pressed his lips to hers in a kiss so soft and yet so swollen with emotion, it burned each of them to the bones. Breseis slid one slender hand up Draco's face, relishing in the scratch of his harsh stubble, before entwining her fingers in his thick, sleek locks of white-blonde hair. Draco turned his head and, eyes still pressed shut, kissed her tiny wrist. Breseis sighed once more and he opened his eyes and smiled down at her, his lips still on her skin.

Casting them back, he could barely make out her pale skin in the darkness, yet he gave a start, and retracted his kiss as he saw the black mark burning against her skin. Her Dark Mark. The branding of the Dark Lord. The branding that marked her as the possession of someone else.

"What is it?" she whispered sleepily, "Don't stop."

She dragged her fingers down to his lips and smiled dreamily at him, a smile which should have made his heart expand and convulse with a happiness he had not felt in weeks. Instead it sank from his chest to the pit of his stomach. He kissed her fingers and then took them into his hand, setting himself awkwardly on the edge of her bed.

"You looked so peaceful," he squeezed her fingers, "You are so very beautiful when you are asleep."

"Draco is something the matter?" she asked, studying his face and taking in his morose expression carefully.

"I was in the Common Room and the Bloody Baron came up to me," he began.

"The house ghost?" Breseis enquired, sitting herself up a little.

"Yes, he was issuing me with our summons to Snape's office-"

In a flash Breseis yanked her fingers from his grasp and was standing up, grasping in the darkness for her dressing gown.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me immediately?" she snapped as she fumbled with the silk tie, "Have you stopped understanding the importance of orders or something?"

"It won't be anything important; it's the middle of the night!" Draco replied in a harsh whisper- a vain attempt to get her to lower her voice.

"If it were something unimportant, he could have come and spoken to us after detention, Draco!" she exclaimed, before turning to run barefoot down the corridor to the Common Room while Draco tried to quietly close the dormitory door.

A dozen house elves squealed as the pair erupted into the Common Room and moved like the gales outside towards the exit. Breseis's bare feet made a strange padding sound on the carpets and a slapping noise on the stone stairs as she ran, always in front of Draco, as Draco liked to be in the optimum position to protect and defend her, should he ever have to.

Breseis snapped the password for entry to the Headmaster's office at the Gargoyles whose job it was to guard it- they raised their eyebrows at each other, though immediately gave her admittance. She was moving up the stairs at a fierce and worrying pace. One false step and Draco feared she would snap her lovely neck. He followed her up the stairs, his reflexes on high alert in case she indeed fell.

Once she had arrived at Snape's door, Breseis paused and smoothed her hands over her dressing gown and hair. It was unfortunate that she could not lose the manic look in her eyes. Delicately she knocked on the great oaken door.

"Enter," called the unmistakeable voice of Professor Snape.

Breseis barged into the room, quite forgetting herself, and stopped, horrified, as she saw who sat with the Headmaster. Draco entered cautiously behind her and was also stopped short, quite amazed as to how _he_ was _here_.

"Prime Minister?" Breseis asked her voice incredulous, "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question, Breseis," Snape's mouth barely moved from its straight, fixed line as he spoke, and his black eyes bore into Breseis's.

"You didn't bring him here?" she asked, squaring her shoulders and never taking her eyes from Snape's.

"No I most certainly did not," Snape replied, "He made his _own_ way here."

"I see."

"Do you?" Snape taunted, "Because, really, Breseis, I am struggling to comprehend why this Muggle man appeared in my fireplace and started raving about you. I-"

"I bade him come here if ever Harry Potter or any of his Order comrades- or however they address each other- arrived in his office. He wouldn't stop demanding extra protection, he wanted a bloody guard!"

"Harry Potter?" Snape asked, too disorientated now to reprimand Breseis for interrupting him.

"Yes, I-oh!" Breseis's eyes slid to the Prime Minister, who had lost interest in their conversation and was instead looking at the portraits of Headmasters past with a fearful eye. "Draco! There might still be time! Floo there immediately!"

Draco was already moving, thoughts hurtling through his head as he dug his hand into the bucket of Floo powder. He was about to capture Harry Potter. _Harry Potter!_ The boy who had been a thorn in his side for seven years. Snivelling Potter. Inescapable Potter. Celebrated and glorified for something which happened to him when he was but a year old Potter. And now he, Draco, would be responsible for his downfall, and the Malfoys would once again be in the favour and good graces of the Dark Lord.

Of course, Breseis would receive some credit as well. The trap was, after all, her idea. She would undoubtedly be delighted at the attention, both from the Dark Lord and her father. But she could not know the relief of finding herself once more free from persecution, because she had never been persecuted against.

He dropped the handful of powder into the flames so that they danced green and not red and stepped into their midst.

"The office of the Prime Minister of Muggles," he declared, and vanished.

Snape was making to follow him; indeed he was reaching his hand inside the bucket for his handful of Floo when Breseis took a grip of his forearm.

"He goes alone," she said firmly, her eyes once more locked with his.

"I think you will find-"

"I said he-goes-alone." She repeated, tightening the grip of her spindly fingers and over enunciating her words.

"I do not take orders from you," Snape told her, making to remove her hand.

"Do you take orders from the Dark Lord?" she asked, her voice changing from firm with authority to menacing.

"What kind of ridiculous question is that?" Snape asked¸ becoming more and more disgruntled by Breseis's rudeness.

"Do you?" she pressed.

"Of course I do," he replied.

"Well, as you well know, the Dark Lord ordered that none but Draco and I were to attend the Prime Minister," she gave him a sneering smile, "So to go after Draco would be to disobey the Dark Lord-_sir_," she added as an afterthought.

Snape tugged his arm from her grasp in one sharp movement.

"Besides, my father doesn't trust you."

"You forget yourself, Miss Lestrange," Snape told her in a rising voice, menacing as hers, if not more so, "You are not yet a year in the Dark Lord's service and you should know to hold your tongue. I have more than proven my loyalty to the Dark Lord and I put it to you, can you honestly say your father has done the same? Because I was under the impression he preferred to drink and gamble away your inheritance than actually serve the Dark Lord."

Breseis let out a hiss and made to reach for her wand, knowing full well that Snape was faster and vastly more skilled than she. She was, however, saved the indignity of losing a dual by the reappearance of Draco.

"Professor," he panted, ignoring Breseis, "Professor, Potter isn't there."

"Of course he isn't," Snape snapped, throwing Breseis a loathe-coated look, "You two took so long to get here he had plenty of time to make an escape."

"_That_," Breseis growled, "was not my fault."

"But Professor," Draco continued, "There are an awful lot of Muggle men in that room."

"What?" Breseis turned sharply to look at him, "Muggles?"

"Yes," Draco nodded, "ten or twelve."

"Breseis?" the Prime Minister asked in a scared and confused voice, "Who is the Dark Lord?"

Breseis breathed some curse in French underneath her breath.

Snape pointed a finger at Draco.

"Detain them," he spoke, his black eyes narrowed, "while I send for reinforcements."

"But-"Breseis interjected, but was hastily cut off.

"Lestrange, use your little... talent with charms to alter his memory before you undo months of hard work," Snape told her, "And rest assured, the Dark Lord will hear of this."

"Professor!" she exclaimed, "I never thought he would have an inclination to do something like this, he seemed sedated by the knowledge of an escape route, not- not incensed! I beseech you not to tell the Dark Lord of this-this-this in discrepancy. I thought myself to be aiding his heart's greatest desire, not ailing it-"

And so on she babbled, determined that the man she had been moments away from hexing but a few minutes previously should not do her the ultimate disservice. Draco watched and listened until he couldn't bare it any longer. Breseis's heartfelt words of devotion were too much for him to stomach. He had almost had himself convinced that deep down she was as insecure and unhappy in her title as Death Eater as he was. He was sure that her initial enamour with the dark glamour of baring such a title had long faded and she felt the same jaded detestment of her branding as he did. How wrong he was.

His thoughts hadn't been completely founded on hope. He saw how Breseis strove to hide the fact that she was a Death Eater from others, amongst other things, and he had always assumed that was due to shame. Now he wasn't so sure. She was displaying such vehement signs of devotion now that it was unlikely shame was behind it. It made him feel strange and sad.

Quietly he dropped some more Floo powder into the fire and gently spoke his destination, forlorn after the disappointments of the night. Tonight he wouldn't sleep but instead lie with his eyes wide open, trying to make sense of the tangled web of thoughts bouncing through his head.

Breseis did not get her way.

And so the chain was set in motion.

* * *

**A quick sorry and thank you to all those who have reviewed, favourited and put Touch of Evil on story alert since last month. I normally send thank you PMs but as I was away on holiday they built up a little too much and I never actually got around to it.**

**Reviews are received with much love, as always, as is information about my favourite reviewer, who I have dubbed 'Rabastan's Hotpants.' If you are or know this person, I MUST PM them to thank them for one of the most hilarious, if slightly disturbing laughs of my life.**

**Okay, now you can go =]**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **Not a long update this time, but there has been quite a few long chapters the past few times, but I think I make my point :)

Enjoy  
Dandylion05x

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

A group of quivering third years huddled together in the detention dungeon. It was getting particularly dirty in the cell, and a rank smell was steadily developing. The Carrows hadn't freed any prisoners for four days now, and neither had Breseis. She sat, now, on her chair in the corner of the cell, quill poised over a piece of parchment muttering away to herself. The third years glanced over at her fearfully. She seemed on edge, grumbling to herself while angrily and violently scoring through lines of her essay.

In the days which had passed since the Prime Minister's unexpected visit to Hogwarts Draco had watched Breseis go from tense to angry to angrier. She hadn't said anything, but Draco knew she had received a letter from her father revealing the universal Lestrange opinion that she had behaved stupidly and any other such behaviour would result in serious punishment. He knew this because he had stolen the letter from her book bag the previous evening. Furthermore, the Carrows were treating her like...well, him. If anything, he had gone up in the world. When he arrived with Breseis earlier, they had addressed orders to him and not her. To say that Breseis was displeased would be such a heinous understatement it was practically a lie.

Draco was quietly reminded of the honour and respect he had commanded when the Dark Lord had charged him to murder Professor Dumbledore. He had suffered immensely, of course, and he knew very well that he had only been chosen as punishment to his family, but the other Death Eaters were forced to treat him as if he had already succeeded. He had to admit that he had basked in the feeling. Things were different now, he reminded himself, he believed himself disenchanted. But at the same time, he liked the feeling- and the thought- of moving up within the organisation once more.

"Come on," he snapped at the third years, "Or else you'll find yourselves chained to these walls. And don't think that is an empty threat."

He could feel a strange sense of déjà vu as a shadow of the old Draco broke through. He shoved one of the third years forward. The small boy raised his wand in terror and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried again, tears now streaming down his cheeks, but to no avail.

"Enjoy your fate," Draco said darkly, and shoved forward the next candidate.

Breseis watched as child after child couldn't manage more than a few red sparks escaping their quivering wands. As Draco shoved every new child forward, a madness grew inside her. Draco was supposed to be in disgrace. The Carrows were supposed to ignore _him_. He was supposed to stand awkwardly at the side of the dungeon and think on his many predicaments. She hadn't done anything to deserve this fate, she hadn't done anything wrong! This was Snape. This was all Snape's doing. He was malicious and spiteful and...and..._Argh!_ She couldn't bare it.

"For heaven's sake!" she cried, unable to deal with any of it anymore, "It's-not-_fucking_-hard!"

She whipped her wand out from the sleeve of her loose robes and brandished it at the sixth year prisoner the third years had been trying to curse. Her upper lip curled into a grimace and there was a flash in her eyes as if she were anticipating what she was about to do with mirth. Draco had never seen her look more like Rabastan, or- and this came as a shock- Bellatrix. Yes, with her thick curls sticking out at odd angles, and her face drawn from not eating enough, she looked almost the image of Bellatrix.

"_Crucio_!" she screeched, turning to look at the third years, but never wavering her wand as the sixth year let out an agonising scream of pain, "See? _See_?" She whipped around to face the other wall and pointed her wand at a fourth year girl with a bad cut down her face, "_Crucio!_"

"Breseis!" Draco yelled over the screams.

"Yes, _darling_?" she cackled, her eyes quite manic, "_Petrifius Totalus_," she called, causing the fourth year to freeze, the expression of agony still twisted on her face.

"That's enough," he told her, staring at her coldly.

She turned to face him, hearing and detesting the tone of authority coating his voice. She raised an eyebrow at him and lifted her wand so it was pointing at his chest. He began to reach for his own wand but she was already lowering her own. Draco's jaw set as he watched her hand descend, watched it settle pointing at the chest of one of the third years. He couldn't get his wand in time.

"_Crucio!_" she cried once more, smiling wildly at him the whole time, "_Crucio! Sectum-_"

"STOP IT!" Draco yelled, closing the space between them and gripping hold of her arms as tightly as his strength would allow. "Do you hear me? Stop it!"

She began to laugh again, like some kind of feral beast. She threw her had back and cackled hysterically, her wand dropping away from the shaking, terrified child. Draco looked at her and didn't know who she was.

"The lesson is over," he said blankly, looking at Breseis still but addressing the third years, "And make sure _she_ gets to the hospital wing," he added, glancing over his shoulder at the quivering little girl.

Once the third years were gone he let go of Breseis and turned out of the room without so much as glancing back at her.

Breseis couldn't stop laughing.

* * *

That Saturday it was Pansy's birthday. Turning eighteen is not quite as exciting as turning seventeen, not for a witch, anyhow. But still Pansy loved nothing more than the attention her birthday commanded. She rose early and stole the use of many of Breseis's expensive French beauty products. _They're not doing _her _any good_, she reasoned, not that she felt particularly guilty, _she's been looking uglier than ever this past week_. Once she was satisfied that she was beautified she dressed in her nicest robes and strode off to the Common Room, ready to be showered with gifts and attention.

She spent her day attached to Draco's side, smiling smugly and showing off. That night a private party was planned in the Common Room for Pansy and her inner circle- and Pansy and her inner circle _only_. She loved the sound of that. _Pansy's_ inner circle. It made it sound like she was the one in charge, calling the shots. She was the important one. She didn't doubt the truth of it for a second.

It wasn't until late in the evening that Breseis emerged from her dormitory. Her hair was still slightly damp from her long shower and her favourite cream cotton dress was hanging limp and loose over her emaciated frame. Her long sleep had managed to eliminate the worst of the dark circles which had lingered under her eyes this past week, but her cheeks were still sunken, giving her the look of a horse at some angles. Pansy congratulated herself on looking so fantastic next to her former rival. Draco wouldn't look once, let alone twice at her now.

Breseis settled herself down in an arm chair near Crabbe and Goyle. They were arguing loudly about the best Beating technique until she threw them what could only be described as a death glare and they fell into silence. They then tried to stand up and leave, in order to continue their discussion elsewhere. Once again Breseis looked at them with an expression soaked in so much malice they didn't dare move, and instead stayed half sitting-half standing until she turned and looked into the hearth.

The Common Room was empty by eleven 'o clock. This was unusual for a Saturday, when students tended to stay up later listening to the wireless and relaxing before tackling homework the next day. Audra and Millicent started to clear everyone out at about quarter to, but most students were reluctant. Pansy started flashing evil looking grimaces at the reluctant people, but to little or no avail. She simply wasn't formidable enough. Breseis let out an irritated sigh and started to stand up, with the intention of going back to bed. It took the dawdlers about three seconds to get from their seats to the door leading to the dormitories. Word had travelled fast about Breseis's funny turn down in the dungeons the day before. She sat back down and tried not to think on this too much, but instead let herself revel in the fact that she still held some authority around here, at least.

Blaise disappeared and re-emerged with two bottles of Fire Whiskey. Audra hurried over to one of the magnificent mahogany cabinets that adorned the walls of the Slytherin Common Room. She retrieved a selection of glasses from it.

"Left over from the Christmas party," Blaise said coolly, looking at Breseis poignantly and then winking.

"Just pour the damn stuff," was her un-amused reply.

Fire Whiskey is strong, and so it didn't take long for the small group of Seventh Years to begin to feel its effects. Breseis felt the alcohol burn away the tension she had been feeling and replace it with a dopey relaxation. It felt so good to just let go, so she tipped drink after drink down her throat, relishing the burn. Blaise was leering at her and refilling her glass at an almost frightening pace. She curled her lip at him in disgust.

"Let's play a game!" Blaise suggested with enthusiasm, raising one eyebrow suggestively at Breseis.

"How about strip exploding snap?" Millicent giggled.

Breseis tipped the remaining contents of her glass down her throat and prepared herself to leave.

"I was thinking more along the lines of spin the bottle," Blaise replied, giving Millicent the once over and clearly deciding he would rather not see her with her clothes off.

"No thank you," Pansy chipped in, "They both sound far too childish. And I don't want to kiss anyone but my Draco." She giggled and stroked Draco's cheek. Breseis looked at Draco amusedly.

_So he was _her _Draco, was he?_

"Well how about 'I have never?'" Blaise asked.

"How do you play that?"

"One person starts and says, "I have never-" and then they say something they have never done, and everyone who has done it has to take a drink," he glanced wickedly at Breseis once more.

"Ooh!" Pansy exclaimed, "That sounds like fun!"

Breseis got up from the armchair where she was still sitting and began to walk, not very smoothly, to the door to the dormitories.

"Where are you going?" Blaise asked, "Don't you want to play?"

"No especially ," Breseis shot him a disgruntled look.

"Are you scared?" Blaise challenged.

"No."

"Then prove it."

Reluctantly Breseis took back her seat and held out her glass to be refilled. Her head was spinning a little and doubtless she would feel like hell tomorrow. But she would not come across as scared and pathetic. She was not weak.

"Right," Blaise smiled evilly, "I'll start. I have never... _been in love_."

Pansy immediately giggled and took a sip of her whiskey. Both she and Breseis looked pointedly at Draco, who likewise took a drink.

"Breseis?" Blaise asked. She took a gulp of her drink. "Interesting. It's your turn."

"Fine," she smiled spitefully at him and then turned her eyes to Draco, "I have never cheated on anybody."

Everyone's eyes were suddenly on Blaise, who was making a huge show of taking a drink for every girl he had ever cheated on. But Breseis watched Draco as he reluctantly sipped at his drink and then smiled triumphantly.

And so, with much giggling, the game went on, around and around the circle. Nearly all the Fire Whiskey was gone by the fourth time around. Breseis was wondering if it was possible to be drunk and hung-over at the same time, because she was sure she was when Pansy, sniggering in that annoying little laugh of hers, made her final contribution to the game.

"I have never, oh wow, this is embarrassing!" she teetered, throwing her hands up to her face, "I have never- _had sex_."

Audra nearly collapsed on hearing this, her face turning the colour of beetroot. Once she had calmed down she took a deep drink from her glass. Pansy gasped and demanded details. Blaise took a nonchalant glug of his drink and then turned to look at Breseis, who followed suit.

"Oh yeah!" Audra giggled, "Didn't you two...you know...do it?"

Breseis raised a sceptical eyebrow. "No we most certainly did not."

"We almost did," Blaise chipped in, leering once more.

"Yes, but if I remember correctly...you weren't, to put it bluntly..._able_," the smirk disappeared off of Blaise's face the moment the words spilled out of her mouth. She smiled cattily as the room erupted into drunken laughter.

Sliding her eyes to look at Draco once more, she saw him take advantage, again, of everyone else's distraction and take a sip of his drink. He locked eyes with Breseis and she felt a burning in her heart, a longing for him. Things had seemed so simple, so black and white at Christmas, but these past weeks they had been slipping back into the gray and murky, no longer clean cut. A heat, a fiery passion burned between them as their eyes locked. But it did not go unnoticed by all. Breseis was not the only one who saw Draco take a sip, own up to his sins. Both Blaise and Pansy had seen, and witnessed the intense look the pair shared.

The party broke up after this. Draco helped Pansy back to her dormitory. As they walked across to the dormitory entrance, Pansy kept glancing back at where Breseis sat pensively in her armchair. In her drunken state, she couldn't make proper sense of what she had just seen, but she knew that something was wrong, that her perfect little bubble was bursting, that everything was about to be spoiled.

Draco enveloped his girlfriend between the sheets of her bed and reluctantly pressed his lips to her cheek. He then made his way back to the Common Room, with the intention of having it out with Breseis once and for all. The door to the Common Room was still open, but as he made to break the threshold, the sound of voices stopped him. Instead he peered around the door and watched Blaise leaning into Breseis's seat.

"I don't know what you're hoping to achieve, _Zabini_," Breseis was saying with malevolence, "Do you intend to take me by force? Because I assure you that if that is your intention, you will live to regret it."

"I don't need to use force," he told her, "You know that Breseis. You're going to fuck me willingly."

"I am?" she replied, "That's news to me."

"You're going to fuck me willingly, just like you fucked Draco willingly," he whispered, his face as close to hers as it could get without actually touching her.

"Pardon me?" she managed, but she had already faltered, the damage was done.

"Don't play coy with me, Breseis," he tweaked her nose, "It will get you nowhere. Now you better hurry up and get into this, or I will make sure the entire school knows what a pathetic _slut_ you are, as well as being a psycho-bitch."

Breseis snarled at him and narrowed her eyes menacingly. Blaise leaned in and pressed him lips against hers. With a gigantic heave she managed to shove him away from her face.

"Like it violent, do you?" he goaded, and she connected the back of her hand with his face, rings and all, with considerable force. His jaw made an ungainly crunching sound.

He growled at her with rage and made to grab her, but she issued a right hook to his eye and he stumbled backwards. She drew her wand, slicing it in an arc through the air and pointed it at him, closing the distance between them in two big strides. She pressed the tip of her wand to his throat and spoke so closely to his face that flecks of spittle hit his face.

"Don't piss me off, little boy, because I can, and I will, tear you to pieces," she pressed her wand in harder, "If you try anything like this _ever_ again, I will tell my father and you will be condemned to a painful and torturous death. Now if you'll excuse me."

She lifted her knee violently, hitting Blaise in the groin, before striding carefully out of the room. Her mind seemed suddenly clear and sharp, as if the adrenalin pumping through her body was ridding her mind of its alcohol fuelled fog. Despising it, she turned momentarily, and beckoned the bottle of Fire Whiskey to her with her wand, shooting a disgusted momentary look at Blaise. She caught the bottle and took a glug as she made her way out of the room, completely missing Draco pressed against the wall in the darkness.

He honestly didn't know what to think of her anymore.

* * *

**Reviews etc are received with love! (And a thank you pm...)**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait between chapters. I'm not going to bore you with a long a/n so on with the story-

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

"Anything you want to tell me?" Draco asked under his breath as Breseis sat down beside him at breakfast on Monday.

She had never emerged from her dormitory the previous day. Neither had Blaise, but Draco had still caught sight of the two shiny bruises tarring his face. The moment he saw them, he wished he hadn't. They represented something he didn't want to think about. But the time was coming when he would have to face up to it, face up to everything.

"Pardon?" Breseis replied, wrinkling her nose at the platters of steaming food in front of her and silently wondering why she even bothered coming to breakfast. Otherwise she looked unusually placate, as if her little outburst had straightened out the kinks of crazy in her mind-

"Anything you want to mention about the other night?" he whispered a little louder.

Breseis pursed her lips.

"No."

"Breseis-"

"Yes?"

"I know," he said meaningfully, staring her straight in the eyes.

"Oh do you now? Isn't that nice?" her upper lip curled up over her teeth, "Eavesdropping were you? Do you not trust me? Is that it?"

-But then again, appearances can be deceptive-

"Well, as a matter of fact-"

"I don't even want to know," she snapped, "You shouldn't have been doing it. You have no authority over me and I resent this...this...this invasion of privacy!"

"Oh for God's sake, Breseis-"

"What are you going to do?" she snarled, "Run off and tell your best friend Snape about my unruly behaviour? Is that it? Elevate yourself further at my expense?"

"Keep your voice down!" Draco hissed, grabbing her forearm in attempt at restraint.

"I don't take orders from you!" she hissed back, yanking her arm from his grasp and standing up.

She stomped off out of the Great Hall, shoving past Pansy and Millicent in a dry rage. Draco stared after her, his feelings a cocktail of rage, confusion and bitterness at what she was becoming. Pansy was soon at his side, hands and fingers all over his face and neck, attacking him like the dreaded plague. He stood bolt upright mid-fussing and followed Breseis's footsteps taking himself as far away from his girlfriend as possible. Today, more than ever, she was making him feel sick.

* * *

Breseis was sitting on the damp dungeon floor, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her chest heaved under the pressure of her distressed breaths. Around her, abused and tortured students groaned deliriously and the very stone slabs on which she sat were stained with dry blood. Her hands slid from her knees to the floor and her head fell back against the cold wall. She couldn't explain the way she felt. She couldn't make herself stop behaving erratically and she was struggling to contain her crippling rage.

She heard familiar footsteps thudding down the corridor outside. Her eyes remained shut and she desperately clutched at the hope that they would walk on by. It was futile. The door squawked open and the air rippled with Draco's presence. He was angry, she knew, his emotions seemed much stronger these days, much more assertive. His crippling fear was waning; just another thing she didn't understand. She daren't open her eyes.

"I don't understand you anymore," Draco spoke with frustration, "In fact, I'm not sure I ever did understand you, but this is on another level Breseis! All I was doing was looking out for you and you snapped! You're acting like some sort of mad woman!"

"Oh please," she scoffed, "you weren't looking out for me! You were checking up on me, making sure that I wasn't about to run off with Blaise, and then getting annoyed when I didn't tell you every little miniscule detail of my life! Oh- and for the record, I don't need looking after!"

"I beg to differ-" Draco interjected.

"I amn't weak, Draco," she spat, "I'm perfectly capable of watching my own back. In fact, I do believe that I have looked after both of us on several occasions, and I could easily do so again."

"Breseis, you are teetering on a knife edge and your balance is about to tip one way or another. Half the time you act completely sane, the other half it's like you've lost your mind! I'm scared for you!"

"Don't be!" she cried, "Fear, sacredness, all of it- they're all weaknesses! Don't be weak anymore, Draco, be strong, stand up tall and accept who you are!"

She heaved her weak frame from the ground and started to walk towards him, her eyes softening a little around the edges.

"Accept who we are, darling," she whispered, reaching up and stroking his cheek with the back of her ice cold fingers.

"I can't."

"Yes you can," her fingers gripped hold of his hair and she pulled his face close to her own, so close that their noses almost touched, but not quite.

Draco gulped. "I won't," he said, with a shudder in his voice. Breseis's hand dropped from his hair.

She walked to the other side of the dungeon, her face in her hands.

"Draco!"

It was his turn to lean against the wall in despair. His thoughts vibrated in his head causing an unbearable whirring sound and he was aware that Breseis was losing her temper once more, but couldn't focus on her words. He knew there was something important that he was thinking, but he didn't know what it was exactly, and he knew there was an unpleasant feeling in the very pit of his stomach which he couldn't dwell on right this moment.

"Draco!" Breseis exclaimed once more, "I don't understand this anymore, why are you still with Pansy?"

"I couldn't tell you," he muttered.

"Then just leave her!" Breseis entreated, at his side once more, clutching his arm with one hand, and turning his face towards hers with the other. "Just leave the silly bitch."

"Not right now," he replied, wanting to look away from the manic expression her eyes beheld, and the dark hollows lying beneath.

"Draco, I-" she stopped abruptly, turning towards the door and smacking her hand against his lips when he tried to speak. Dull footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor. "The Carrows!"

Sure enough seconds later the Carrows entered the dungeon and Draco was treated to Breseis's one-woman-Death Eater-pleasing show. That feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified. It felt like disgust.

It was this thought he dwelt on for the rest of the day.

* * *

Hell was let loose that night.

Draco ate, over-saw detention and did his homework without really noticing anything. Thoughts spun through his head at a dizzying rate as he tried to make sense of everything. The past months had slipped past and he didn't really remember making any distinct decisions during that time. He spent his life trying to please everyone else- his father, his mother, his aunt, the Dark Lord, Breseis, even Pansy. It was impossible to please them all at once, impossible to choose who to focus on, and impossible to remember the last thing he had done for him. When was the last time he was selfish?

Without really realising it he was making decisions, and as they formed into distinct ideas his consciousness began to pick up on the world around him. In the middle of the common room Pansy and Breseis stood regarding each other with severe contempt. Breseis shrieked something incomprehensible at Pansy, provoking a look of surreal horror.

Pansy turned around to the seat where Draco sat.

"Baby, are you going to let that _bitch_ speak to me like that?" she asked in that horrible baby-voice and his stomach convulsed slightly, "it's not on, is it?"

Draco stood up slowly and looked around the room. The whole house was staring at the spatting girls in the centre. Breseis was glowering evilly at Pansy, her hand hovering readily over the pocket containing her wand. Pansy was staring at him with innocent doe eyes, though her body shook with rage.

"Well?" Pansy pressed, flicking her eyes a little fearfully towards Breseis.

"You know what, Pansy?" Draco said, running a hand through his white blonde hair, "I really, really don't care."

"What?" her jaw dropped.

"I don't care what Breseis says to you, and quite frankly haven't for months on end," he shrugged, "and I'm done with you now. You're far too much hassle."

Pansy's pug-like face crumpled. "Draco!"

He shrugged again and tears started to drip from her eyes. His eyes slid to Breseis, who wasn't even bothering to hide her smirk. Smugness was unbecoming on her, and served only to support Draco's decision.

"And I don't know what you're smiling about," he addressed Breseis callously, "I don't want to be with you anymore than I want to be with _her_. You aren't the girl I fell for, the lost girl standing beside the lake in my garden last summer, looking so far away, so scared. You're someone different, someone evil. Just like the rest of them, your father, my father, Bellatrix, you're fit for nothing but what you already are. Accept who we are, _darling_," he echoed her earlier words with spite, "tell the good people the truth."

Breseis's eyes widened

"Say it, Breseis," he goaded, "Say 'I am a Death Eater.'"

Her lips remained pressed shut.

"I didn't think so," Draco said, staring straight into her eyes so she could feel the full impact of his rejection.

He felt it. To the bone. He couldn't take one more moment of her. She was a mess and he shouldn't have to put up with that. He was in enough of a mess of his own. As he spoke, his words were seeped in sincerity.

Breseis gave a curt nod and walked from the common room towards the dormitories.

"Is this true?" Pansy choked through her sobs, "you've been seeing her on the side this whole time?"

"Pretty much," Draco said, walking towards the common room exit.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Any place but here."

* * *

Breseis choked on her tears as she manually ripped her clothes from their hangers and dumped them in her trunk. She didn't bother with the dresses right at the end; she couldn't make her wand light work. She knocked the toiletries from the dressing table on top of the heap of robes and then endeavoured to try and open the door of her bedside cabinet. Her hands were shaking terribly but she eventually got in and clasped hold of the dregs of a bottle of Fire Whiskey. She unscrewed the top and tipped the contents down her throat. She shuddered slightly and discarded the empty bottle on the bed.

She started trying to close her trunk. Black, make-up stained tears dripped from her face onto the surface at an alarming rate, and quickened as she couldn't get it to close. She heard the door click shut and turned to see Pansy standing against it, similarly tear-stained and angry looking.

"I can't believe you," Pansy said menacingly under her breath, "You really are a first rate bitch and I should have brought you down at the beginning of the year. I knew you were a Death Eater and I knew you were a slut, but this is beyond even my imagination!"

"Don't speak to me like that," Breseis growled back, "It won't do you any favours."

"You don't scare me!"

"I would if you had any sense you silly little girl!" she shrieked, "Like you said, I'm a Death Eater. You don't know what I'm capable of, the things which I've done."

"Don't give me that-"

"Things which you couldn't even imagine, to people you would think exempt from my perilous wrath!" she cackled, "I won't bore you with the details, but you get the idea."

"You don't scare me; you're nothing but words and scary expressions!" Pansy said venomously, "You couldn't even deal with a Boggart! You're weak!"

Breseis stood up and drew her wand.

"What did you say?"

Pansy reveled in the strong reaction and repeated herself, elongating every syllable, every sound: "You-are-weak!"

Breseis marched straight up to Pansy and stood in front of her, staring her out. Tense, awkward moments passed before Breseis abruptly moved her hand in one swift, smart motion and smacked Pansy with the back of her hand.

"Get out, before I do something I might live to regret," she whispered right in Pansy's ear.

She turned around and flicked her wand sharply at her trunk and it clicked shut.

Vainly, she wiped some of the tears from under her eyes before sweeping from the room, her trunk hovering behind her.

She was nowhere to be seen the next day, or the day after that, or indeed the day after that. But the chain of events was nowhere near stopping yet. In fact, its motion was swifter than ever.

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**Reviews etc are received with love (and a thank you pm.)**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **Sorry sorry sorry about the long wait, and if you are reading this, thank you for sticking with me!

Dandylion05 x

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

The midday sun burst through the French doors into the conservatory warm and glittering against the stone floor. The air was hot and fresh, the sky a brilliant blue and the scent of hot grass and pollen seeped through every breath of air. Summer was an infant yet, but already her giggle resonated through the atmosphere.

In an upholstered wicker chair in the conservatory corner, a woman sat flicking through the pages of a magazine. Her waves of chocolate coloured hair hung down to her waist, her shining blue eyes looked at the pages, but she wasn't really seeing anything, taking anything in. Lounging on the matching loveseat next to her was her husband. He had his silver hair and beard clipped neat and a pipe between his lips and he furrowed his eyes in concentration at an important looking piece of parchment.

The woman sighed as she reached the last page of her magazine and cast her eyes over to her husband. He was paying her no attention. She sighed louder- he blew out some smoke and itched his chin. The woman pouted in a childish gesture unbecoming of her thirty-seven years and crossed her arms over her blue silk tea dress. Every breath became a sigh, every heartbeat a new stab of boredom, every second taking an hour- no a day! - to pass.

That was until the sound of the doorbell chimed through the house. The woman jumped to her feet lithely and pranced out of the conservatory and into the large lounge. Passed the chaise lounge, her little feet and slender legs danced towards the large, open doors into the entrance hall. The sparkling marble floor was cold on the soles of her feet and so she hurried to the front door, heaving it open and letting the gorgeous continental sun flood in warming the chill which was running down her spine. In front of her stood a young man, tall with sharp, pointed features and ice blonde hair. Her eyes widened in shock and excitement as she let out a quiet exclamation of '_mon Dieu!' _followed by-

"Draco?"

"Hello Aunt Marie," Draco spoke quietly, "I'm looking for Breseis."

* * *

Marie Rustanov led the way through the villa to the conservatory, but stopped before stepping out into the little sun trap. Draco looked at her, unsure of what he was supposed to do now, but she gestured for him to go ahead. He stepped out into the warmth, where the conservatory doors were wide open to try and lessen the humidity and let in the gorgeous trickling sound of the enormous fountain that was the centrepiece of the beautiful ornamental garden.

"Darling," Marie spoke softly to her husband, and Vlad looked up from his papers, "Breseis has a visitor."

She spoke in English for Draco's benefit, and Vlad acknowledged her choice.

"How do you do, young man?" he asked standing and extending his hand.

"Very well, thank you sir," Draco replied, shaking his hand.

"Perhaps," Marie said dreamily, carefully stepping back into the cool and shadowy hall way, "perhaps, darling, you remember Draco from our wedding, or from when he used to play with Breseis as a child."

"Of course," Vlad nodded, moving quietly to the doors to pull them shut, and then slowly and gently moving from window to window and pulling the blinds closed by hand, instead of using his wand. As the light in the conservatory softened, Marie stepped closer and closer, and eventually settled back into her wicker chair. "Narcissa and Lucius's boy. You must be awfully warm, Draco, I'll get you a t shirt from upstairs-"

"No thank you," Draco replied hurriedly, slinking his left arm behind himself somewhat, "I'm alright."

"Very well, then why don't you take a seat and I'll fix us some drinks," Vlad said, clocking the arm movement, his eyebrows furrowing just a fraction, "Marie made lemonade this morning."

"That sounds lovely," Draco said, shifting uncomfortably into the seat which Vlad had gestured to.

Breseis's stepfather picked up the papers he had been looking at before and vacated the room, leaving a rather dreamy looking Marie with their unexpected guest. Draco watched her as she traced the flowery patterns of her tea dress with her fingers while muttering to herself, but thought he could see her slowly becoming more aware.

"She was broken, you know," Marie spoke aloud now, still staring at her dress.

"Pardon?" Draco asked.

"Breseis was broken. Around this time last year. And Anya wasn't even there to pick up the pieces. The two of them seemed to just...crumple. She should have been getting married this summer. We were planning everything so carefully, all in advance so that everything was perfect. And I was trying so hard to build myself up for... You see they wanted to do it outside. It would have been lovely, we designed the most beautiful Marquee..." she sighed and looked up into Draco's face, "she was broken, and you fixed her, you see."

"Aunt Marie, I don't...I don't understand."

"You did not know she was to be married to Paris?" she asked.

"She was what?" Draco exclaimed, immediately regretting it as the obviously fragile creature before him flinched.

"Yes, she was to be married to him. He asked her at Christmas, at their Christmas party at the school. He had asked for Vlad's permission, and Vlad had in turn asked me. But it was his decision to make. I am too much of a romantic. Vlad is very practical. He decided yes, and so it was settled," Marie shrugged, "he died the day before her first dress fitting, you know."

"Who did?" Draco asked, sure he had just been reintroduced to Vlad.

"Why, Paris, of course," Marie smiled sadly, "he was a lovely boy. He would have done something great with his life. It was a waste. He fell down those awful narrow staircases they have at that school- the ones that lead up to the dormitories. Breseis saw it all. So tragic."

Draco tried to process these new pieces of information. But he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Breseis had been set to marry Paris, and that the only reason she hadn't was that he had died! It was absurd.

"And now it seems she has lost touch with Anya as well... Such a shame, everything she knew totally gone, replaced with only pain and heartache. So tragic, so tragic," Marie looked into the distance, an odd expression playing her face.

"Who is Anya?" Draco asked, passed feigning any knowledge of the situation.

"Anya was Breseis's best friend from her childhood. When we lived in Russia, Anya's family were our neighbours. However, I fell out with her mother, and when we moved away it was only Breseis and Anya who kept in contact. They were at school together, and were too much like sisters for either of us mothers to keep them apart. She would come here every Easter and Breseis would spend part of her Christmas with Anya's family. They were inseparable, until last year." she paused, "Her family through wonderful balls though, I will give Katya that much."

"Breseis has never spoken much of her," Draco said, "or Paris."

"I suppose it is all still too raw-"

"What is?" Vlad walked back into the room carrying a tray of drinks.

"I was telling Draco about last year," Marie said, looking sadly at her husband.

"Yes, well I think that is Breseis's story to tell," Vlad said sternly, evidently warning her not to say anything else, "You look tired my love, go and rest your eyes upstairs for a moment."

He then said something to her in French which Draco could not understand. She nodded at him, and then turned to Draco. She was so like Breseis, but at the same time so unlike her. She was softer, sweeter, and though obviously troubled, she looked less like she was in torment.

She stood right in front of Draco on her tiptoes and reached a tiny hand to his cheek.

"She was broken, but you are fixing her," she told him earnestly, "she is very much in love with you, and you must keep trying. You are close now."

Draco nodded and she patted his cheek, and then turned and seemed to float from the room, the excitement of the day weighing heavy on her mind now. It was now just Draco and Vlad. Marie's husband stared at Draco with an expression a little like thunder. Draco took a sip of lemonade, just for something to do.

"Where abouts is Breseis?" he asked, somewhat sheepishly.

"In the Orchard," Vlad gestured to the top of the garden, "But I'd be careful if I were you, Draco, she doesn't want to see you."

"I know," Draco said, "But I have to try."

Vlad followed him to the door and stood with his arms crossed across his chest.

"You'd be better going and looking after your wife," Draco said over his shoulder, and Vlad couldn't quite interpret his tone of voice, "Rabastan and his brother are outside."

Draco didn't wait for Vlad's reaction. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd even said it in the first place. A mixture of reasons, probably. He didn't like being watched, that was definitely part of it, and something in him did worry for Breseis's mother, with her former, deranged husband so close. But as much as he tried he couldn't ignore the slight sense of satisfaction of evoking fear in another. His old love of power irresistibly surfacing again.

She was lying in a little suntrap between the trees, her thick curls spread out around her face, her eyes closed against the sun. She was wearing a little black slip dress, a cardigan discarded at her side, leaving her legs, her arms, and her Dark Mark exposed to the sun light. Her Mark was ugly, red raw at the sides and scabbed as if it had recently been. Draco had heard of this before, heard of the way it began to rot in your arm if you disobeyed, if you deserted. He didn't like to think of her beautiful skin rotting, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Breseis," he spoke quietly but she sat bolt upright in a fright anyway.

"Draco!" she lifted a hand to her heart, "what are you doing here?"

She didn't exactly sound pleased to see him. Her eyes still had that slightly manic look that they had been steadily developing and she had to dig her nails into her palms to stop her hands shaking.

"Officially," he replied, "I am here to summon you back..." he wanted to say home, but it didn't feel like the right word anymore, "back to the side of the Dark Lord."

The word _home_ hung unsaid in the air. They could both hear it; feel the loss of it, its absence.

"Unofficially... I guess I just wanted to see you," he sighed, sitting down on the ground opposite her, "I'm sorry, Breseis, but it was all getting too much, you were getting too much. I didn't realise you would do this, come here. Your father is livid, and the Dark Lord is...well to say displeased would be an understatement. If you were anyone more important I imagine he would have dealt with you himself."

"Dealt with me?" she yelped, her eyes wide with fear.

"No, not like that, I don't think he wants to kill you!" he reached out for her, wanting to take her hand and soothe her but she shrank away from him. "Come back, Breseis. It will all be okay if you just come back."

She wrapped her spindly arms around her bony knees and stared at the ground. A little crease formed between her eyebrows. She looked troubled, Draco thought: the way her lips silently mouthed shapes and she tapped out a hurried rhythm on her kneecaps.

"Breseis..." Draco coaxed.

She looked up then, and stared straight into his eyes. But instead of the intense heat he was used to when she did this he felt his body turn ice cold.

"It was supposed to get better," she said lurching forward and grabbing his shoulders "It was supposed to get better! Why hasn't it gotten any better?"

She was shaking him manically, her nails digging through his black Death Eater robes and into his skin.

"Breseis!"

"Vlad said it would get better. But it didn't."

She dropped him.

"Go away," she said, looking around her as though she were lost, "get away from here!"

"What is wrong with you?" Draco cried standing up and stepping back from her, "You know I thought I knew you better than anyone else, but it turns out I have no idea who you are!"

"GO AWAY, DRACO!" she shrieked now, curling up in a little ball on the ground and running her arms quickly up and down her arms. She was covered in goose bumps even in the heat of the strong southern French sun.

"Who is Anya? Eh, Breseis? Because your mother seems to think she's your best friend. But I didn't even know she exists!" Draco shrieked back, unable to hold in the anger she was making him feel. "And what about the fact that you were supposed to be getting MARRIED to Paris? Or the fact that he's DEAD?"

Breseis then let out an ear splitting scream. It ripped through the calm summer breeze and resonated through the leafy orchard. She dragged her nails down her arms, drawing blood at some points and leaving the rest of the trail raw as her Dark Mark. "Go away," she whispered once she was done, slipping down to lie on the grass, her back to Draco. She was shivering and shaking and the only sound that was left was her muffled sobs.

Draco turned around and stalked back the way he came. Vlad stood in the entrance hall and watched him leave, an incomprehensible expression on his face. He watched out the front door as Draco and two other black cloaked figures rose into the air on their brooms and dashed into the distance. His stepdaughter's blood curdling scream still echoed in his ears.

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**Reviews are, as ever, received with love and a thank you pm**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **A swift and speedy update this time : ]

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Chapter Twenty Eight

Marie didn't leave her room for the rest of the day. Vlad pulled the blackout curtains down and started a fan to keep the room cool and she lay and slept a troubled sleep. Vlad lay next to her on the bed, stroking her hair and watching over her for as long as he could justify to himself. But after five or six hours he could no longer really explain why he hadn't left the dark room. He had work to do. And he would have to deal with Breseis.

If he was honest, she was the real reason he had hidden away all day.

Gone were the simple days of washing and healing her skinned knees, wiping away her salty tears, kissing the top of her head and sending her on her way again. He had to guide her now, give her advice, carefully worded so he wasn't really telling her what to do, and always try to steer her away from ending up like her mother- sick with no cure. He feared the latter was inevitable, despite his best efforts.

Down in the sitting room Breseis sat on the fur rug in front of the fireplace. She stared into the dull flames, every so often dropping a few grains of Floo Powder into the hearth, turning the orange flames to green. She would then reach out her fingers and dance them through the licking green, sometimes leaving them lingering when the orange returned.

Vlad sat himself in an armchair close to where his step-daughter sat. She heard him settle himself down but didn't turn yet. She wanted to cling onto a last few seconds of silence; a last few moments when her step father could retain the smallest sliver of hope that she was a good person. It was funny, because she had never thought of herself as the sort of person who would worry about being a good person, or worry about what other people thought about her. But now she put her mind to it, she supposed that she did in fact care about others' opinions of her- quite a lot in fact. She hadn't wanted the judgement of the whole of Hogwarts for being too quickly sorted into Slytherin. She hadn't wanted to advertise the fact she was a Death Eater, even though it was no longer illegal. She squirmed at the thought of people knowing about her awful tantrum in the Dungeons when she had tortured that little third year. _Vanity_, she mused, _selfishness and vanity_.

"Breseis," Vlad said her name quietly. She noticed the way people did that more and more around her now, as though they were trying to keep her calm. "It's time we had a talk."

"I know," she said, still staring into the flames, scared that errant tears would escape her eyes if she looked at him.

"I know what you have gotten yourself into in England," Vlad told her solemnly. She gave one curt nod, "I knew before, but today was the proof, I believe. Your young Mr Malfoy was sent to summon you, yes?"

Another nod.

"He brought your father," Vlad continued, "And I suspect your Uncle. That will not do. Your mother is fragile enough without that man and his family coming to our home. We cannot have a repeat of the last time, Breseis, she would never recover."

"I know," she said, her voice betraying her detached expression just for a moment.

"Breseis, you know that she can never, _ever_ find out, don't you?" Vlad leant into her, his voice suddenly urgent, and she could have been wrong, but also fearful, "Is there any way that she could find out?"

"Of course there isn't!" she turned around for the first time, her jaw set in annoyance, "You think that I don't care about her, but I do. She will never find out, I have measures in place as you well know."

"Well you had better make sure-"

"I ensured that a reminder would be sent months and months ago- practically when I was first in England- _should the need ever arise_. You do not need to lecture me on that subject, I know the sincerity of it," she turned back to stare into the flames, "I am the one who has to live with it."

"Breseis, you are not the only one who has to live with it," Vlad said sadly, "I know, and am constantly torn between the compulsion to protect your mother and the guilt of lying to her-"

"Guilt!" Breseis cried, "guilt? Vlad you know nothing of guilt. Nothing." She let out a laugh, shaking her head at him, "Do not speak to me of guilt!"

"You have to go back," Vlad told her, "You have to finish what you started."

"I know," she said, but she was shaking her head, "I know."

"Tonight," he continued.

"I know."

They looked into each other's eyes then, and a sense of sadness filled up Breseis's chest and prickled behind her eyes. She wasn't his little girl anymore, his little angel. She couldn't go and sit on his knee, a book in her hands and ask him to read her a story. She couldn't doze off, sleepily twisting her curls around her chubby little hands, resting her angelic face on his big strong shoulders. She couldn't make him smile just by wearing a piece of jewellery he had bought her for Christmas, or her birthday. She couldn't just slip into the conservatory and wrap her arms around his neck for a quick hug while he was concentrating on his important papers.

She had lost the only father she had ever really known in the search for one of biological supremacy. Trying to impress someone she had never known, who had never been there for her, and who her mother had not only divorced at the first opportunity, but moved to a different country in order to escape. Vlad had constantly been offered high paid, important jobs within the British Ministry and yet he had always refused them on account of Marie's crippling fear of Rabastan's release. Breseis felt a sudden urge, stronger than ever before, and lord knows the desire had always been strong, to prove herself to Rabastan, to be a worthy daughter. Because that would make it all worth it, she was sure. That was the only thing that could possibly make all the hurt, the loss, the pain worth it.

"Vlad," she said, taking hold of his hand, "I'm sorry."

Tears prickled her eyes and her heart contracted as he squeezed her fingers with his strong grip. It was Vlad's turn to utter "I know."

Breseis stood up and kissed the top of his head, before hurrying from the room, wanting nothing more than to get out of the house, the country. Wanting to start fixing things- her relationship with her father, her status as Death Eater, Draco. She was so focused the stab of pain at finding her trunk already packed and attached to her broom was only dull, the sharpness not quite reaching the core of her heart. She walked out of the house, and took into the air before she even reached the high gates at the bottom of the front garden.

On hearing the door slam shut, Vlad let his head drop into his hands. When Marie awoke in the morning she found him slumped over asleep in exactly the same position.

* * *

The rage of the Dark Lord crackled through the parlour at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix knelt in front of him, begging for mercy in the face of her heinous mistakes. Lucius lay in his wife's lap, unconscious and bleeding from the head. Narcissa's hands were shaking too much to even reach her wand, secreted up her sleeve. Tears streamed down her face and she tried to muffle her frequent sobs. The Lestrange brothers cowered behind the Dark Lord, unsure if his rage would turn to meet them or if Bellatrix would be enough of a distraction.

Draco had pinned himself in the darkest corner of the room, hoping that as long as he was unseen he would be forgotten. He trembled all over, the fearful memories of the last time he had evoked the wrath of the Dark Lord dancing at the front of his memory.

He was still in shock after the events of the evening. The appearance of Potter and his followers, being asked to identify them and being unsure what to do- to admit that yes, indeed it was Potter, the Chosen One, the key to securing Voldemort's supremacy, or to deny he knew them, let them free, give them a chance. He hadn't been sure what he would prefer, what would be best for him and his family. He saw now that he should have just let them go, but his old animosity for the three, the _golden trio_ had resurfaced and he had identified them.

He was still playing over their disappearance in his head- things had moved so quickly since then that he was still unsure about the details. All he knew was that they had gone, and now things were worse than they ever had been. He stole a glance at his parents and was gripped with more fear. He wouldn't have been able to move even if he had wanted to. He was sure it would have to be a matter of his life and his death before his joints were freed from the rigor mortis that currently gripped them.

The sound of the front door swinging open reached his ears, and everyone turned in unison towards the entrance to the parlour, waiting to see who it was- a Death Eater dropping in for a catch up- it seemed unlikely- a member of the Order, more than one member of the Order- an ambush?

Breseis entered the room, her hair windswept from her journey. The Dark Lord looked her up and down and dropped his wand from where it pointed at the point dead centre between Bellatrix's eyes.

"Well, well," he spoke quietly, menacingly. "You deemed it appropriate to return I see, Miss Lestrange."

"Yes, my Lord," she said, taking in the room and automatically shrinking further away from the scene, suddenly doubting if returning was the way to fix everything. Something steel had clamped itself around her heart and she was suddenly very scared.

"And you think it is acceptable to just...disappear whenever you want?" he asked, flicking his wand at her.

Something hard and heavy started to push her towards her master, but when she looked fearfully over her shoulder nothing was there. She struggled against it, wriggling and squirming but it was pointless. Her breath quickened and her heart pounded harder and harder beneath her prominent ribs. Soon she was close enough for the Dark Lord to chuck her under her chin, sending a freezing cold shiver streaking down her spine. "Well?"

"No, my Lord, no," she shook her head sending curls flying everywhere, "I'm sorry! I'm very sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't quite cut it, Breseis," the Dark Lord spoke through his teeth, "if we had had maybe just one more person here tonight, then perhaps things would not have gone as badly as they did. Perhaps Potter would not have, _once again_, escaped!"

"Wh-what, my Lord?"

"STOP TALKING!" he roared at her, all pretences vanishing. She trembled under the growl of his voice, still unable to shrink away because of the hard force behind her. She was trapped. "Crucio!" he cried, his wand pointing directly at her heart.

She let out an ear piercing scream, louder and higher pitched than her scream of earlier in the day. Her body crumpled onto the ground as she twitched against the bone burning, heart wrenching pain. She felt as if her entire body was on fire, her flesh and bone alike turning to ash in slow agony. Her fingers and toes curled, her back arched and the scream never stopped.

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord cried again.

The burning got worse, and the fear got worse. Through the pain, Breseis vaguely registered the fact that her father was doing nothing to stop what was happening, and she was suddenly gripped with the notion that this was the way she was going to die. Her life burned out in pain and humiliation.

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord shrieked this time. It was beginning to become apparent to the on lookers that he had no intention of stopping.

In his corner, this occurred to Draco. The Dark Lord was going to murder Breseis, and she had absolutely nothing to do with his anger. It was the fault of his mother, his aunt, his uncle, his father, and even him. It was the fault of Potter and his followers, and that awful house elf. Her blood would be on all of their hands. Her blood would be on his hands. He couldn't stand the thought of that. He was nothing without her, despite her numerous faults. He was connected to her in a way that he had never been connected to anything else. He was her, and she was him. Her life was his.

His joints were suddenly freed, adrenaline gripping him. In a fraction of the second he was out of the dark and throwing himself between the aim of the Dark Lord's wand and the crumpled form of Breseis. Her screams abated, turning into weak whimpers.

The Dark Lord noted the action, but did not drop his wand. Instead he again cried the word "Crucio!" causing the fire like pain to encase Draco's body.

Draco cried out in agony, but he did not move. It took all his strength to stay encompassing Breseis, but somehow he managed it.

The Dark Lord turned to look at Narcissa, more malice than normal glinting in his reddened eyes.

Quietly, this time, he began to speak the killing curse, "Avada..."

"STOP!" Narcissa shrieked, "STOP!"

The Dark Lord turned back to look at her.

"That is enough! They are just children. They have been punished," she was panting, "That-is-_enough_."

The Dark Lord made an expression something like a smirk, but it was difficult to tell on his warped face. He dropped his wand and stepped over the crumpled pile of bodies that was Draco and Breseis, moving towards the door.

"You are all under house arrest," he spoke quietly but clearly, "and I shall not be so merciful should anything else go wrong."

Only once the sound of the front door closing reached their ears did anyone dare breathe. Draco somehow summoned the strength to stand up, heaving the body of his beloved with them. Without looking anyone in the eyes, he left the Parlour and ascended the stairs.

Narcissa then collapsed, sobbing onto the still unconscious body of her husband. Rabastan was too busy speaking with his brother and Bellatrix to even notice that Breseis had left the room.

And still the chain was moving.

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**Reviews are still received with love : ] (and a thank you pm)**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** This is just a little update, so sorry about the teeny length, but hope you enjoy all the same. (And rest assured that the next one is going to be **BIG!**)

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Chapter Twenty Nine

The dungeon was damp and cold, despite the warm weather outside the castle. The icy stone wall she leant against sent a shiver up Breseis's spine, which reverberated through her whole body. Her knees shook, her teeth chattered, her fingers clawed her skeletal arms closer around her body in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

There was still a dull ache in her bones, a faint burning. Her joints felt weaker than normal, but maybe that was because she could barely eat. There was a background noise constantly resonating in her ears; a screech. The echo of her own screams on a perpetual loop. It made everything else sound very far away, as though she were hearing in through a closed door, or a thick wall. Sometimes the background noise got too loud, too piercing, and she found herself flinching and clasping her hands over her ears to try and muffle the sound, forgetting that it was all in her head, and there was no way to silence it.

It seemed quieter when she was shivering against the cold wall. It was like she was fading away. Her skin was turning a bluish grey, just like the old stone, and everything was dulling around her. She settled into it, letting the screeching finally quieten down, letting her eyes droop, vanishing from her mind the sight of the bloodied walls, the bloodied students. The grip of her fingers slackened on her arms and her shivers slowly began to subside. _If this is what dying feels like_, she thought, struggling to concentrate on the words, _then it isn't all that bad. It's a little bit blissful, actually._

Images surfaced in her imagination, people's faces, places she loved. The orchard back at the villa in France was the most distinct one. She could see people there, sitting in the clearing between the trees. There was a man, tall with blonde hair and ice blue eyes. Her heart warmed a little as she recognised him. _Draco_, she breathed, unsure if she'd said the words aloud. And there was a woman, little with sharp features and dark curls falling down to her waist. The woman was her, unrecognisable with a healthy glow to her skin and a genuine smile playing on her lips. And there was a third figure, that of a little blonde boy, running between her and Draco. Smiling and giggling, his chubby cheeks a rosy pink. He was gorgeous, and she wanted to reach out and grab hold of him, snuggle him to her breast and sniff up his lovely smell. He was her son, her and Draco's son. Or at least the son they could have had if there was no Dark Lord, no Death Eaters, no horrors in the world. If there was just her and Draco and no hurt, no pain.

She felt like she was looking through the gates of heaven, and she longed to walk towards the perfect picture, she longed to live out her death in that life.

But that was a coward's route.

"BRESEIS!"

Her mind snapped back to reality.

Neville Longbottom let out what sounded like a sigh of relief as she focused on him, chained to the wall, his robes soaked in dried blood.

"Christ," he muttered, "I thought you were dead. Do you want to at least unchain me before you slip into another coma?"

Breseis looked around her uneasily. The dull screeching was back, and the shivers. She rubbed her hand up and down her raw arms again, doing her best to increase circulation. _Dungeon_, she thought, _detention_. She got up shakily and hurried across to Draco, the keys jangling in her wobbly grip, and unlocked him.

"Why are you doing it with Filch's keys?" Neville asked when he was free, as he rubbed his sore wrists.

Breseis muttered something but all Neville could pick up was the word "magic."

"Cool," he replied, squinting at her as she walked back towards her little nest on the floor at the other side of the room. "Look, Breseis, I don't really care all that much, but I get the feeling that no one really cares all that much about you, and so there wouldn't really be anyone to ask, except me, not that I care, I- is everything, you know...alright?"

She looked up at him sadly. Her eyes had huge dark circles beneath them, as if someone had smeared a little charcoal onto her pallid skin. There was something wrong about her expression; it was as though she was gritting her teeth. And her eyes were full of a cocktail of pain and...fear? She looked so foreign to the hard skinned bitch everyone had come to know over the last year that Neville was a little bit scared of her. It was as if she had suddenly gotten less predictable, not that she had ever been very predictable in the first place.

"I think you might have been right about me, Neville," she said quietly, tears bubbling at the corners of her eyes.

"What?" Neville asked, getting more and more confused by the second.

"Those things you said about me before- about how I would regret becoming a Death Eater," a tear openly dribbled down her cheek as she spoke, and she didn't bother trying to catch it, "you were right."

"I was?" she nodded, and another lone, pathetic tear leaked from her eye. "Well what are you going to do about it?" he asked sounding strangely organised, as if they were planning a study group.

"There isn't exactly anything I can do," she said, trying to give him a half smile, but she ended up just grimacing.

"There must be some way out," Neville reasoned.

"You can't just quit," she sighed, "you're in or you're dead. And if you try to leave, try to run, your Dark Mark starts to rot in your arm."

"Ah," Neville processed all this for a moment, "So, you're stuck."

She nodded.

"Neville, I'm so sorry," another tear escaped.

"It's alright; it's not exactly like we're friends. I mean you _did _kidnap my best friend-"

"That's not what I meant. I'm sorry about what my father did...to your parents..." she looked down at the ground, too ashamed to look into Neville's eyes when she was apologising for the man that, until a few short weeks ago, she had aspired to be.

"Oh," she heard Neville say, "Well that isn't exactly your fault, Breseis, but I guess, thank you for being sorry. And I'm glad you've seen sense. What happened by the way- to make that happen?"

"The Dark Lord... do you know what, it doesn't matter," she said, scraping away the tears from under her eyes with shaking fingers, trying to ignore the dull pain in her bones, "it doesn't matter."

Neville stood up, dusted down his robes and made to leave.

"Well, like I said, glad you've seen sense," he smiled.

She nodded up at him and he left the room.

"Oh," he popped his head round the door, "and I'm glad you didn't do anything too heinous before you came to your senses!"

He disappeared again and Breseis stared open mouthed at the place he had just vanished from. The cold walls felt like they were closing in on her, slowly but surely, and her shivers became shakes. The tears fell freely now, and her teeth chattered loudly, and somehow she found the strength to whisper "No, Neville, it's too late. It's always been too late."

And in that moment she knew what she had to do. She knew she had to tell Draco the truth.

It took all the strength she had to stand up and get out of the dungeon, but somehow she managed it. Somehow she got herself into the Common Room. And somehow, Draco was waiting for her.

* * *

**Reviews are, as ever, received with love.**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **Two updates in one day= go me!

* * *

Chapter Thirty.

The clock chimed midnight as Breseis stepped into the empty Common Room. The fire still burned in the hearth, but the room felt cold and unwelcoming. Draco paced in front of the fire place, his head snapping up when he heard the door creak open. He had been waiting for her, pacing since the last student had disappeared some thirty minutes ago. It had felt longer.

The other students were taking to early nights, tired from studying for their impending exams. They left behind them their notebooks and textbooks, their quills, ink and parchment. Their empty packets of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans peppered the tables and carpets and peeked out from behind cushions.

Draco tried to smile at Breseis, his cheeks tugging at the sides of his lips. He couldn't manage it. Every time he looked at her he was filled with an overwhelming sense of despair. He couldn't shake the image of her writhing and screaming in pain at the Dark Lord's feet, from his mind. Couldn't rid himself of the sickening feeling he had first experienced on realising his master's deadly intentions. He could still hear her frightened whimpers as she slept uneasily after her ordeal; still see the terror in her eyes every time she jumped awake; still feel her grip on his arm as she desperately clung to him; still see her mouth shaping the words "is this hell?"

They hadn't spoken much since that night, though they had been together often. Breseis didn't like to be touched now- she jumped in fright anytime anyone did. And she didn't seem very good at listening- her concentration was poor. She only ever seemed at peace when she eventually fell asleep late at night. She didn't seem to notice that it was just her and Draco left in the Common Room, staying there long after midnight. He waited every night for her eyes to droop and her breathing to become heavy. He watched her closely hour after hour; sure he would rather die than have her suffer a minute of loneliness. And when she did eventually fall into her slumber, he scooped up her skeletal form and took her to his bed and held her all through the night. She was always gone when he awoke- usually to be found in the Common Room staring into the empty hearth- but he didn't mind. He knew he'd done at least something for her by being by her side when she woke up every morning.

She walked over to him and sat herself down on the sofa in front of the fire. She settled her shaking hands on her lap and looked up into Draco's loving eyes. He leant forward and kissed the top of her freezing cold forehead, lingering his lips on her skin a couple of moments longer than a peck. He then sat down by her side and lifted up her bony, shaky hands, encasing them in his own.

"Breseis," he breathed, "There is something I have to say, and I have wanted to say it for the longest time. Now there's nothing to stop me, and I think it would do you good, in the face of everything that has happened, for you to hear it now."

"I want to hear you say it," she nodded, tears welling up in her eyes again, "But there is something that I have to say first. Something...terrible, truly, _truly_ terrible that you have to know."

"What is it?" he asked, his eyes full of concern, one hand reaching to her sharp, sunken cheek.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. The tears streamed from her eyes, forming wet pathways all over her pallid face. Sobs started in her chest and shook her entire body. She snatched her hands from his grasp and buried her face in them. She sounded inconsolable, her sobs loud and unrelenting. Draco rubbed her back, his fingers bumping over the ridges of her spine, and tried his best to calm her, but she didn't seem to be able to stop.

"Breseis!" he cried, "Breseis, listen to me. There is nothing that you can say, _nothing_, that could possibly make me not want to be with you! I promise you that! Do you hear that? _I promise!_"

"You don't understand," she sobbed, "It was me, Draco, it was me!"

"What was you?" he asked, pulling her face from her hands and looking straight into her eyes, "what was you?"

She took in a couple of deep, wobbling breaths. Tears still fell from her eyes but the sobs subsided. Her jaw quivered as she reached her hands up to his and gently pulled them from her face, freeing her to stand up.

"You don't- you don't understand."

"What don't I understand, Breseis? Please explain it to me," he begged, watching her carefully.

She turned and looked at him, her face anguished by her inner torment. She spoke quietly, but her voice was very clear.

"I killed them."

"What?"

"I killed them, Draco," she nodded, her jaw quivering more exaggeratedly now.

"Who did you kill?"

"Paris," she said, raising her hand to her mouth, as if she couldn't even believe her own words, "Paris."

Draco's jaw dropped open, incomprehension taking over his face. Breseis was pacing now, her fingers pressed into her temples. Seemingly out of nowhere she began to relay her story, her mind transporting with relative ease to her memories of the day that had haunted her for over a year.

* * *

She had gotten the day wrong. It almost never happened, but somehow, she had forgotten. The dress fitting was tomorrow, a Sunday, not a Saturday. Anya had convinced her it was today, and so she had pulled on her boots and her jacket and waded through the snow to the school gates, eagerly anticipating the arrival of her mother.

She couldn't even begin to describe her excitement. She was going to be getting married- and to the only man she would ever love. She was sure of that much. From the moment she had laid eyes on him she had marked him as her own, and he had seemed equally as besotted with her right from the start. She was sure her father would approve- her _real_ father, that was. Paris was a pure blood, and an extraordinary wizard. He was no Viktor Krum, but he was something special on the Quidditch pitch, that was sure. And there didn't seem to be a subject that he couldn't master. He had even helped her to pass Potions last year, and that was a small miracle!

She liked the sound of that- her man the miracle maker.

After half an hour in the snow, she began to wonder if maybe her mother had had a turn, and traipsed back to the castle, heading for one of the private parlours, handsomely decorated with bear skin rugs on the floors and the heads of game mounted on the walls. She tossed and handful of Floo powder into the hearth and stuck her head in the green flames, clearly pronouncing the words "_Chateau Desirée_."

Her mother teased her mercilessly for getting the day wrong, prancing around the room giggling like an infant. All Breseis felt was an enormous sigh of relief that she seemed healthy- crazy but healthy. She was soon heading back towards her dormitory, making her way through the house Common Room, shooting disdained looks at the people who tried to greet her.

She was at the foot of the winding staircase, and had had enough of her thick, fur lined boots. She pulled them off of her feet and started to ascend the damp stone stairs with them tucked under her arm. She dreamily imagined the warm fire Anya would have burning in their room, and the laugh that they would have about the mix up, and the further discussion they would have to put into Breseis's wedding dress. It was a blessing really, this extra day's planning. Although Breseis wasn't really sure that Anya was putting her heart and soul into the plans any more- and she had just as much to be excited about, she was the only bridesmaid! But the past few weeks, maybe even couple of months, she seemed very distant any time the wedding was mentioned. It was as though she was having to try to be enthusiastic.

Breseis didn't think she was trying hard enough, if that was the case.

Breseis could hear her giggle from the room above and idly wondered what could be making her laugh. Perhaps she was flooing to her mother, or else perhaps Paris had come up to try and find Breseis and ended up chatting to Anya. They were friends on account of Breseis- or at least they had been. Breseis thought they had been rather funny with each other recently. This annoyed her. She wanted Anya to be happy for her, and to treat Paris like the extension of her best friend that he was, and she wanted Paris to get on with Anya. Anya was the closest thing to a sister she had.

She reached the top of the stairs, and she heard two giggles now. One was recognisably Anya's, and the other's was a man's- she recognised Paris's laugh. But there was something wrong, something in her stomach twisted, and she couldn't put her finger on it. She put her hand on the door knob and turned it, pushing the door open. The sight before her was shocking.

They were twisted together beneath the sheets- her fiancé and her best friend, naked and in each other's arms. Paris had one large hand on the small of Anya's back, lifting her up to him, and the other tangled in her silky blonde hair. Breseis stopped seeing in colour. Things seemed to turn to black and white. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on them, rage gripped itself around her heart, making it beat louder and faster and stronger. There was a heat in her ears that seemed to further incense her.

"Breseis!" Paris cried as he noticed her, she had dropped her boots on the ground, and was pulling out her wand without really thinking. "Fuck!"

"Shit!" Anya cried, "Breseis, my god! I- what- what are you doing here?"

Breseis didn't really seem to hear them. She was walking towards them, lifting her wand, pointing it straight at Paris's heart.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, her voice quiet but somehow sinister.

"Breseis, I'm so sorry-"Anya began.

Breseis's head snapped down to stare at her, where she struggled to pull the sheets around her naked body. "I didn't ask you, you dirty filthy little whore," she told her, and then snapped her gaze back to Paris.

"I'm sleeping with your best friend," Paris said with a shrug, as though he had been caught stealing a biscuit, and she couldn't quite read the expression on his face. "She wasn't nearly as good as you, if that's any consolation."

"That was a very, very stupid thing to do, my love," Breseis told him, locking her arm into place, before saying very firmly, but very quietly, "_Crucio!_"

He began to writhe in pain, crying out as the Lestrange talent for that particular curse gripped every cell of her lying, cheating body. Anya screamed at his side, grabbing hold of his shoulder and completely disregarding her modesty. "Stop!" she yelled, "_Stop!_" Her reaction only made Breseis more mad. She watched Anya flailing over him, shedding tears over his pain.

She spoke louder this time. And she meant every word.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

A green light shot from the end of her wand and hit Paris square in the chest. He stopped his writhing and slumped limp on the bed. The life was gone from his gorgeous eyes. It took Anya a moment to realise what had happened.

"No!" she shrieked, "No!"

She turned to Breseis, "What have you done? What have you done to him? How could you? _What have you done?_"

She got out of the bed and continued to ask Breseis, over and over, as she paced towards her. She was crying and hurting and it hurt Breseis. She needed to squash out the pain.

"What needed to be done," she replied, moving her wand to point at the girl she had thought of, not five minutes ago, as sister. Once again she spoke the words "_Avada Kedavra!_" and Anya dropped onto the floor as the room shone green for just a few short moments.

Breseis looked around the room, making sure that she understood everything. The rage was subsiding now, and she felt hollow.

"What have I done?" she breathed, taking in the lifeless forms of Paris and Anya.

She walked out the room and locked the door behind her. She knew what she had to do now.

* * *

"I meant to kill them, Draco, you have to understand that," she said earnestly, looking him square in the eyes, "there was this...this _hate_ inside of me and I wanted to kill them. I knew I was going to do it as soon as I saw them, but I wanted to as soon as she cried over him. When the hateful feeling started to ebb, I just felt empty, and after I had sorted everything, the regret started, and I flooed home."

"What do you mean, when you sorted everything?" he asked, his voice steady, though his face was creased with emotion.

"I locked the room, and I went straight to the Principal's office and I...blackmailed him and Professor Ivanov into making an Unbreakable Vow never to reveal the truth. Apparently a few people knew about their affair- Paris and Anya that is- and so it when we made it look like they had fallen down the stairs, people weren't overly suspicious as to why they were together, or at least this is what I hear. I assume they thought that one had slipped and the other had tried to catch them and been dragged down as well. I left as soon as we had done that, created a fake death for them. I don't even know what the rest of the school said about it. I confessed to Vlad not long after I was home. I had already told him and my mother that Paris was dead. Vlad thought it was best not to mention Anya to her," her voice was flat- as if she was running on auto pilot now. "It was him who decided I was to come to England as soon as news came that Rabastan had escaped Azkaban. I think he was scared of me. I am sorry, you know, that I did it, if I could take it back I would. But I have to accept what I did and live with it, and it- it tears me apart."

"I know," Draco said, "Sometimes, in your nightmares, you would say Paris's name- it makes sense now."

"You don't have to stay here, you know, you can leave me now, I don't mind," she looked at him sadly, waiting for him to stand up and go.

But he stayed sitting, looking at her like she was being very silly.

"Breseis, it must have taken some guts to tell me that, and my past isn't exactly shiny and innocent. The fact that you regret it and you suffer from it means more than you think," he paused, taking her all in, "I still love you."

"How can you?" she asked, errant tears escaping once more.

"Because you and me are meant to be together. I don't care what you've done, and I don't care that you aren't perfect. This is it, Breseis," he sighed, unsure how to make her understand, "I'm not worth anything without you."

He held out his hand to her and pulled her into his lap. She settled into his chest and he rubbed careful circles onto her back, comforting her. She didn't feel like she deserved his comfort, or his love, but she was not about to reject it again. She didn't have the strength anymore. She needed him more than she was willing to admit to herself. "I love you too," she whispered.

Her story hung in the air, her words clinging to both their ears and eventually it was too much for Breseis and the nausea returned. She ran to the bathroom, but this time Draco was right behind her, holding her hair back from her face and looking after her. Her confession had taken all her energy out of her and she eventually gave up and rested her head on the cool tiles of the floor, and once more fell into an uneasy slumber.

Draco watched her sleep, wholeheartedly wishing he could take away her pain. And all the time wondering why he wasn't more shocked by the heinous actions of the woman he loved.

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**Reviews are, as always, received with love.**


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: I am very sorry to those of you who have been following Draco and Breseis for a long time that it has been SO long since I last updated. We're getting near the end now, and I hope this chapter is enough to win your forgiveness. Enjoy, X

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Chapter Thirty-One

The night that changed everything started much like any other night. It was a warm, early summer evening, and so the fireplaces in the Slytherin common room lay bare and empty. It was invitingly cool in the secret reserve of the dungeons after a day in the sweltering heat of above. The common-room was empty save a few students squinting over revision notes, desperately cramming until their eyes could no longer stay open, and two people huddled in a dark corner, whispering furiously to each other.

This sight was not unusual. It had started not long after the term began. Draco Malfoy and Breseis Lestrange seemed merged as one entity. Every morning when people began to appear from their dorms for breakfast, they were already sitting together, deep in whispered discussion. They went to classes together, to secret meetings with senior members of staff together, to not-so-secret meetings where they snapped orders at the Inquisitorial Squad together. They ate together, although that was a seemingly infrequent occurrence; the rumour was that they slept in Draco's bed together. Together they got paler, together they got thinner. Together they appeared to be wasting away.

"She's toxic," Pansy had sneered with disgust earlier in the evening, "She's like some sort of contagious disease."

"Ooo, what do you think she has?" Millicent asked, her eyes lit up at the malicious gossip.

"I didn't say she _had _a disease, I said she IS the disease," Pansy threw a disgusted look at her friend, "I can't even bare to look at them anymore. They make-me-_sick_."

It was only about 8 o' clock in the evening at that point, but Pansy stomped off to bed anyway.

Currently, Breseis sat with her head in her hands. Draco was speaking, but she wasn't listening. She didn't have to anymore. He had been saying the same thing for days. Or was it weeks? She didn't remember, but she knew his speech by heart now. She still wasn't sure. She knew what happened to them- the deserters. She had heard what happened to Igor Karkaroff, her onetime head master, and she knew of the fates of the others.

Her mother had a box of newspaper clippings that she hid in the very back of her wardrobe- and her wardrobe was about the size of the Great Hall. Breseis had found them when she was playing dress up one day, and they hadn't meant much to her then. Horrible stories about evil wizards being found killed, maimed, only parts of them remaining. Horror stories. It was only after she began to find out about her father, that the box of clippings began to be important. They were memories, she realised, her mother's memories. People she had known from her time at Hogwarts, people she had been friends with. For, after all, her mother had married Rabastan, married a Death Eater, it should only follow that she be close with the people he was close to. That her friends be followers of Voldemort.

What slowly dawned on Breseis was that these newspaper clippings weren't about people who were killed in battle; they were about people who had been assassinated. They were deserters. So enamoured with the idea of being a Death Eater, of being a part of the dark glamour, was Breseis that the stories her mother had kept of her slaughtered friends sparked disgust inside of her, and not pity. _She_, Breseis , would never, ever consider deserting, she thought, she would never throw away a chance of being a part of something so spectacular. The revolution.

Foolishness, that was what she thought now, she had been foolish. But she didn't think she was brave enough to join the ranks of those who had run. She didn't want to be another clipping in the sad, dusty box her mother hid in the back of her wardrobe. She wanted to be back outside the door of her dorm at Durmstrang, listening to Anya's excrutiating laugh, and to turn and go back down the stairs and never see what she had seen, and to marry not murder Paris and to never have come to England and never have become a part of any of this.

And then she looked at Draco. He looked scared and drawn and was trying to plan an escape that would ensure both his safety and hers. And suddenly she couldn't regret any of her decisions, because they were what had brought them together. She reached out and took his hand.

"Once we get out of the castle, we'll be fine, Breseis. We'll apparate as far as we can, and then apparate again and again until we get to Dover and we can safely get to France. Vlad will help us, I know he will. Or your mother's family. We'll be safe. We're not important enough that they'll endlessly search us out. Eventually they will give up and we'll be able to live our lives as if none of this ever, _ever _happened." Draco looked at her with the most sincere expression to ever cross his pointed face.

"Okay," Breseis replied, with one brief nod of her head.

"Okay?" he looked bewildered.

"We'll go tomorrow, as soon as Curfew is over."

"Tomorrow?"

"I can't help feeling like time is running out," she sighed, dropping his hand and leaning back in her chair, "It's like there's this knot in my chest and everything around us is moving really quickly. It's all disintegrating out there, Draco, if we don't move now, and everything falls apart, we'll both be locked up in Azkaban for the rest of our lives before we even realise what's happening."

"But until about 30 seconds ago you were completely against this idea! I'm just...surprised about how quickly you've changed your mind," Draco replied, eyeing her cautiously.

"I wasn't against the idea, I was scared. But I'm scared to stay as well. We're fucked either way Draco, so we might as well do the thing that we want to do, instead of staying here miserable and afraid," she furrowed her eyebrows, "it might even work out okay. Look at the school, that Dumbledore's Army are running circles around us, around the Carrows, even around Snape. And they're school kids. Imagine if there was an uprising, imagine if the outside world decided to revolt. If we run now, we might even be able to come back eventually. If we stay, we're going to be miserable whatever happens. We maybe don't deserve a chance at being happy, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't grasp it with both hands while there's still time."

Draco smiled at her, not a full smile but a small, loving one. "So, tomorrow then?" She nodded, finally feeling the sense of peace that comes when a difficult decision has been made.

And then the common room door was flung open. Breseis and Draco turned to see Professor Slughorn in his nightdress gasping for breath. He looked hastily around the room, a sort of manic urgency in his eye. He stopped when his gaze reached the two unhappy Death Eaters, his mouth twisting as if he wanted to say something. But he turned away from them and stepped through properly into the room, closing the door behind him. Draco looked at Breseis, confused by the presence of their head of house, but she was still staring at Slughorn, her lips pressed together in a perfectly straight line and a completely dead expression in her eyes.

Professor Slughorn pulled out his wand and flicked it in the air. Almost instantly a sharp, shrill alarm began to sound through the common room. Draco flinched and covered his ears, much like the few other students still in the common room. Breseis didn't seem to hear, her eyes following Slughorn's step to the middle of the room. The alarm was clearly sounding loudly throughout the dormitories as baffled and sleepy looking students began to come through from their beds. The common room was soon full of people shouting to each other to hear over the noise of the alarm, clambering to get a look at Slughorn, who had climbed on top of a coffee table in the middle of the room.

Suddenly the alarm went silent. The students followed suit.

"I'm sorry to wake you all, but I assure you this is quite important," Slughorn began, looking quite troubled, "We must all proceed to the Great Hall immediately for...ah...an emergency assembly...Follow me in an orderly fashion."

Slughorn turned to leave, ignoring the multiple cries of "But, sir! Why?" Draco turned to Breseis to see if she had acknowledged anything that had just happened, but half expecting to see her still staring ahead with those scary, dead looking eyes (and in all fairness, experience was on his side, there.) She did not have her usual dead expression in place however, and instead looked up at Draco in complete and utter terror. The room around them was moving, and quickly; the air was alive with excitement and fear. Draco pulled Breseis to her feet. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him close, before whispering in his ear in panic, "I think we're too late."

Her terrified expression was now mirrored on his. "What will we do?" he asked.

Breseis bit her lip and looked around as the last students filed out the common room. She took Draco's hand and marched forward. Draco began to really panic: she was shaking like a leaf.

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In the Great Hall Professor McGonagall was addressing the school. By the time she announced that the school was to be evacuated, Breseis had already surmised the reasons.

"Snape is gone," she whispered to Draco.

"So are the Carrows," he replied, and then looked around the Hall again, "and Potter is here."

"There's going to be a fight, isn't there?"

Draco nodded. "What will we do?"

Breseis looked around the Hall, taking in all the exits, the crowd. Every eye was on Professor McGonagall. There was a collective gasp as she announced that the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself would be at the school very soon and that it was now unsafe. Breseis and Draco stood at the very end of the Slytherin table, behind a small group of other senior students. She took his hand and gently tugged and they slipped through the entry way to the hall, and once outside began to run down the stairs and back to the dungeons.

"What now?" Draco asked.

"I don't know, this is as far as I've thought it through really. We need to find a way to-"

She was cut off by a voice echoing throughout the school. A voice that she and Draco knew well by now. The voice of the Dark Lord.

"I know you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and the school will remain untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you shall be rewarded. You have until midnight."

"Rewarded?" said Draco, picking up on his master's words, "is that our best shot?"

"No," she said, "If this prophecy is true, if Potter is chosen to kill the Dark Lord, then he is our only hope, as much as he is the Mudbloods' and the other...creatures," she couldn't quite hide her distaste.

"I don't really want to be rewarded by _him_ anymore anyway," Draco sighed, "It's lost its appeal. But what else are we going to do. If we fight with the school we'll be considered blood traitors as well as deserters and if we somehow manage to survive and the school lose, we'll be killed. If we fight with the Death Eaters and they lose, then we'll end up in Azkaban. If they win, well we're in the same sorry situation we're in now. If the school wins...and we're fighting with them..."

"We have to be sneaky," Breseis said.

"We always do."

"They can't think we are deserters, but we have to help Potter..."

"You can't imagine how hard it is for me to say this," Draco gritted his teeth, "But you're right. I think we could manage it. He'll assume the worst if he sees me anyway."

Breseis grabbed Draco's hands.

"We can do this," she looked straight into his eyes with sheer determination, "I can do anything as long as you are by my side."

Footsteps began hurtling down the stairs to the dungeon corridor. Breseis and Draco turned in horror, simultaneously pulling out their wands. Crabbe and Goyle appeared in their line of vision, sneers adorning their repulsive faces.

"Thought you two might have been hiding down here," Crabbe said, pulling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckles in what could only be described as a generic thuggish gesture. "What's the plan?"

"The plan?" Breseis asked, accidently letting her inner hostility lace her speech.

"Well I take it we're going to fight?" Goyle replied, looking at her like she was stupid.

Draco turned to Breseis and she nodded.

"Obviously," he snapped, "Don't be thick. Breseis?"

"Find Potter, follow him...Be discreet. And if the opportunity arises, get in the way of what he's doing," she locked eyes with Draco. "But don't kill him. He belongs to the Dark Lord...Well, what are you waiting for? Go!"

Crabbe and Goyle made a move.

"What about you?" Draco whispered.

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, I'm good at this stuff," she reached a hand up to his face, "I'll find you. Be careful."

"I love you," Draco breathed, kissing her softly on the cheek, "I won't let you down. I promise."

And with that he turned and ran after his boyhood friends, leaving Breseis alone in the dungeon, and completely unsure of what to do


End file.
